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BOOKS  BY  JAMES  B.  CONNOLLY 

PUBLISHED     BY     CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S 

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Oh,  papa, — papa — "  she  was  saying,  and  believe  me,  I  didn't 
regret  that  finish 


OPEN  WATER 


BY 

JAMES  BRENDAN  CONNOLLY 

AUTHOR  OF  "  OUT  OF  GLOUCESTER,"  *'  THE  SEINERS," 
"THE  DEEP  sea's  TOLL,"  "THE  CRESTED  SEAS,"  ETC. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
NEW  YORK:::::::::::::::::::::::::i9io 


Copyright,  iqio,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October,  ioio 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Emigrants i 

Tshushima  Straits 25 

The  Consuming  Flame      ....         ...  61 

Gree  Gree  Bush 101 

The  Venture  of  the  "Flying  Hind"  .     .     .  143 

The  Cruise  of  the  "Bounding  Boy"  ...  183 

The  Sea-Faker 213 

Heroes 237 

The  Christmas  Handicap      ....         .    .  271 


9&55T3 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Oh,  papa — papa — "  she  was  saying,  and,  believe  me, 

I  didn't  regret  that  finish       ....     Frontispiece 

PAGE 

He  thought  I  meant  it  for  him,  and  dropped,  but 
'twas  over  his  head  I  threw  it — at  the  other 
lamp 134 

I  set  the  Chinamen  to  work,  one  gang  bailing  out — 

another  gang  to  the  pumps 162 

I  saw  Gillis  striving  like  a  hero 166 

"And  wurk  fasht,  b'y — wurk  fasht" 246 

They  got  the  pair  at  last,  taking  first  the  little  stow- 
away    260 

"Ho,  Ho,  with  nine  yards  the  devil  from  hell  won't 

get  me" 310 

I  could  feel  the  taunt  in  that  yell,  and  into  my  soul  it 

came 320 


1  ' 

■  •  > 


THE  EMIGRANTS 


The   Emigrants 

TO  the  waiting  people  in  Poland  there  came 
one  day  the  most  momentous  package  of 
all,  that  which  contained  the  money  for  their 
tickets — this  from  far-away  America,  from  Henry, 
good  husband  to  Esther,  and  more  than  a  son  to 
Esther's  mother,  even  from  the  day  he  had  asked 
her  for  Esther  in  marriage. 

Then  were  there  the  most  formidable  details  to 
be  attended  to;  for  in  the  realm  of  the  Czar  the 
matter  of  emigrating  is  of  great  moment.  There 
had  to  be  faced  the  most  terrifying  of  officials, 
who  asked  the  most  searching  questions,  and  gave 
over  the  papers  only  after  the  most  rigid  formali- 
ties, and  also  only  after  payments  had  been  made 
that  seemed  like  mountains  of  expense  to  people 
who  for  so  long  had  been  dwelling  in  the  valley  of 
poverty. 

And  there  was  even  more  than  that.  When  for 
so  many  hundreds  of  years  one's  ancestors  have 
lived  and  died  in  a  country — in  so  many  cases 
for  that  country — one  does  not,  generally,  make 
ready  to  leave  that  country,  forever  most  likely, 

3 


The  Emigrants 

and  for  a  far-away  and  unknown  land  most  surely, 
without  noalqiig  some  little  stir,  without  betraying 
to  the  neighbors  something  of  the  inward  agita- 
GQiiy-lfiijrdly  even,  though  that  country  be  one  long 
ruled  by  people  of  a  later  creation  and  cruder  civ- 
ilization, by  aliens  who  for  some  centuries  now 
had  been  denying  all  ancestral  rights. 

But  the  day  of  departure  came  at  last,  and  with 
the  unnecessary  household  effects  disposed  of,  the 
little  patch  of  land  handed  over,  the  passports  ob- 
tained— all  that  attended  to — and  the  last-made 
grave  visited  once  again,  Esther  and  Esther's 
mother,  with  the  four  children,  emerged  from 
beneath  the  shower  of  tears,  kisses,  embraces, 
and  blessings,  and  boarded  the  rough  car  on 
which  they  were  to  be  jolted  to  the  frontier. 

The  frontier!  They  were  near  to  it  at  length, 
and  nearing  it  were  met  by  uniformed  officials  of 
the  country  they  were  leaving,  who  peered  into 
their  faces,  shouted  at  them,  examined  their 
papers,  went  away,  came  back,  had  another  look, 
another  examination,  shouted  once  more,  and 
finally  allowed  the  train  to  pass  beyond  the  line 
of  pacing  soldiers,  and  thence  to  the  servants  of 
the  great  steamship  companies,  more  especially 
the  one  in  green  livery  with  red  trimmings,  who 
also  shouted  at  them — everybody  seemed  to  shout 
at  them,  but  this  one  could  be  heard  a  league — 

4 


The  Emigrants 

"D'Auswanderer — Auswanderer!"  And  when  he 
made  it  clear  that  they  were  to  rally  to  him, 
and  they  had  humbly  assembled,  turned  them 
over  to  a  little  old  man,  also  in  uniform,  who  re- 
assembled them  after  his  own  fashion,  and  led 
them  like  a  band  of  conscripts  to  the  company's 
lodging-house  and  there  assigned  them  quarters 
for  the  night.  The  company,  the  little  man  made 
them  understand,  was  now  responsible  for  them — 
from  now  until  they  were  aboard  the  steamer  in 
Hamburg;  and  though  the  company  would  be  a 
kind  father  to  them,  it  would  also  see  that  none 
strayed  beyond  the  confines  of  its  premises. 

They  were  happy  then;  and  Esther's  mother, 
who  had  not  from  the  first  moment  of  departure 
ceased  to  worry  for  the  children,  above  all  for 
little  Michel,  now  in  deep  gratitude  put  them 
away  for  the  night,  the  eldest  two  in  one  berth, 
the  next  with  Esther.  Michel,  the  youngest — 
the  baby — she  took  to  herself.  Never  would  she 
part  from  little  Michel — never — never — and  told 
him  so  between  the  lines  of  the  song  with  which 
she  lulled  him  to  sleep. 

To  the  women,  when  the  children  were  hushed, 
there  came  from  the  next  apartment  the  sound  of 
men's  voices.  One  there  was  who  seemed  to  have 
come  back  from  America  for  a  holiday — a  young 
man,  by  the  tone — recounting  tales  of  the  won- 

5 


The  Emigrants 

derful  land  to  which  all  were  bound.  Not  longer 
than  two  days  was  he  in  New  York  when  some 
one  said,  "Come,"  and  set  him  to  work  at  two 
dollars — two  dollars — four  rubles,  a  day — yes. 

In  a  berth  opposite  to  Esther's  mother,  a  young 
woman  breathed  aloud  at  that.  "You  heard,  old 
mother  ?  Four  rubles  a  day.  You  have  no  man, 
but  it  is  fine  to  think  of,  is  it  not?" 

"Truly,"  answered  Esther's  mother,  "it  will  be 
fine  for  the  young." 

Esther's  mother  could  then  hear  old  Joseph 
asking  questions.  Poor  old  Joseph!  For  him 
there  had  been  no  need  to  come.  He  had,  indeed, 
saved  enough  to  keep  him,  with  prudence,  all  his 
years  at  home.  But  he  had  come,  and  there  was 
no  gainsaying  him.  To  the  frontier  only — to  the 
control  station,  no  further — he  had  said  to  the 
neighbors,  and  even  to  themselves,  before  taking 
the  train;  but  to  America  it  was  to  be,  in  truth, 
as  he  had  told  them  that  afternoon  in  the  cars, 
and  told  them  also  how  he  had  sold  his  little  pos- 
sessions privately,  and  drawn  all  his  savings,  and 
changed  all  into  large  bills  which,  even  at  the 
moment,  were  in  a  pouch  under  his  vest.  He 
even  showed  them  where,  around  his  neck,  under 
his  long  white  beard,  lay  the  string  of  the  pouch. 

They  slept  well  that  night.  The  cooing  and 
gurgling  of  little  Michel  awoke  Esther's  mother, 

6 


The  Emigrants 

as  it  had  awakened  her  for  many  mornings  now. 
What  a  feeling  that — the  little  fingers  creeping 
up  over  the  face  and  trying  to  open  one's  eyes  in 
the  morning!  Oh,  the  little  man!  she  cuddled 
him  and  kept  him  by  her  until  long  after  Esther 
had  the  other  children  ready — until  the  com- 
pany's man  came  to  say  that  those  who  cared 
might  cook  breakfast  in  the  kitchen  below  where 
were  samovars  and  charcoal,  and  where  cold  water 
was  to  be  had  of  the  pump  in  the  yard  outside. 
After  that  they  must  be  ready  to  go  to  the  office, 
there  to  get  tickets,  for  which  one  must  have  the 
money  ready. 

"Children  under  four  years  are  free  at  the 
steamship  from  Hamburg  to  New  York,  but  only 
those  under  ten  months  are  free  at  the  railway 
from  here  to  Hamburg.     Be  prepared ! " 

"Oh,  my  little  Michel!  We  shall  have  to  pay 
for  him  on  the  railway,  think  you,  Esther  ? — and 
he  but  hardly  weaned." 

"And  for  Max  on  the  steamer,  mother.  He  is 
five." 

"Five — yes — but  small  for  his  age.  Michel  is 
such  a  great  fellow." 

Just  before  Esther's  mother  in  the  line  was  the 
young  woman  who  had  slept  in  the  berth  oppo- 
site Esther's  mother  during  the  night.  She  held 
a  lusty  baby  boy  in   her  arms.     The  weight  of 

7 


The  Emigrants 

him  was  sagging  one  hip  and  shoulder  down  and 
around,  but  she  would  not  set  him  down. 

To  her  came  the  superintendent:  a  portly, 
good-looking  man  in  a  thin  silk  coat,  fine,  frilled 
linen,  loose  tie,  and  the  softest  of  tanned  kid 
slippers,  and  a  clerk  at  his  elbow  with  pad  and 
pen. 

"And  this  one — how  old  is  he  ?" 

The  young  woman  trembled.  Esther's  mother, 
next  in  line,  also  trembled. 

"How  old,  I  say— how  old  ?" 

"Ten  months,  Your  Excellence." 

"Ten  months  ?     Ten  months  ?     Set  him  down." 

"But  he  cannot  walk  yet — he  is  too  young, 
Your  Excellence." 

"Pish — pish — for  a  moment,  and  let  us  see. 
There — and  he  cannot  walk,  you  say  ?" 

"Oh,  but  so  little,  Your  Excellence."  Fat, 
curly,  bow-legged,  and  black-eyed,  the  child 
stamped  about  the  room. 

"  But  so  little,  you  say,  and  only  ten  months  ? 
So.  At  ten  years  he  will  be  a  man  already.  Ten 
months!  and  walks  like  a  sailor.     Ten  months!" 

"He  was  born  so,  Your  Excellence — large  and 
strong  for  his  age." 

"So."  The  superintendent  halted  to  wipe  his 
perspiring  cheeks.  "Ah,  but  it  is  warm.  And 
this  other  fat,  curly  one?"    he  pinched  little  Mi- 

8 


The  Emigrants 

chel's  cheek.  "What  age  ?  Ten  months,  also, 
old  mother?" 

"Ten  months,  Your  Excellence." 

"And  born  large  and  strong  also  ?  And  his 
name — Samson  ?  No  ?  Michel,  you  say  ?  Oh, 
Michel!  Ach!  let  them  pass.  Let  them  all  pass. 
What  can  one  do  with  women — such  lies!  To  the 
doctor  now." 

To  the  first  room  in  the  control  station  went 
Esther's  party,  and  these,  with  many  others,  pa- 
tiently awaited  examination. 

Laws!  There  were  laws,  it  seemed.  And  had 
they  not  left  all  troublesome  laws  behind  them  ? 
And  here,  regulations  also — such  queer  things 
were  in  the  world!  which  said  that  they  must  be 
examined  all,  especially  as  to  hair  and  eyes,  before 
they  would  be  allowed  on  the  railway  which  was 
to  take  them,  by  and  by,  to  the  steamship  and  so 
on  to  the  great  country  beyond  the  great  sea. 

It  was  terrifying,  this  waiting  in  line;  and  then, 
when  the  doctor  said,  "Now  you — "  to  have  to 
march  up  the  whole  length  of  the  long  room  and 
stand  before  him,  with  his  eyes  and  mouth  that 
did  not  smile,  and  have  him  look  one  over  so — 
such  a  look!  and  the  looking-glass  that  was 
strapped  to  his  forehead!  It  could  not  be  that 
he  knew  how  he  frightened  one  when  he  studied 
one  out  in  that  way — so — and  shook  his  hands 

9 


The  Emigrants 

slowly — so — and   then   stiff  and   stern — so!    No, 
surely  he  could  not  know. 

Behind  Esther  was  the  old  mother,  holding  little 
Michel,  dancing  him  up  and  down,  sticking  her 
face  into  his  face,  saying  boo!  and  boo!  and  boo! 
again,  and  kissing  him  every  time  he  crowed 
aloud.  This  was  her  own  darling — youngest  of 
all — little  Michel.  She  held  him  high  over  her 
shoulder  that  he  might  stroke  old  Joseph's  beard, 
and  old  Joseph,  sad  and  patient,  for  a  moment 
tried  to  smile. 

Esther  faced  the  doctor,  and,  being  passed, 
came  back  to  her  place  on  the  long  bench.  Es- 
ther's mother  should  have  been  next,  but  she  turned 
to  Joseph,  and  he,  obedient  as  in  the  days  of  his 
youth,  stood  before  the  doctor.  The  doctor  took 
up  his  paper. 

"You  are  alone?" 

"Yes,  Herr  Doctor." 

"No  wife,  no  child  behind  you  ?" 

"No  wife,  nor  child — nor  kin,  Herr  Doctor." 

"And  in  America — no  kin  ?" 

"Nobody — in  all  the  world,  nobody." 

"  But  at  your  age — why  do  you  go  ?  You  like 
to  travel?" 

"I  ?     Not  I — old  trees,  fast  roots." 

"  So  ?  But  tell  me — it  is  for  myself,  not  the 
law,  that  I  ask — why  do  you  go  ?" 

10 


The  Emigrants 

"I  go  because  my  friends  go.  Esther  goes — 
and  so  the  children.  The  children  go,  so  goes 
Sarah;    and  where  Sarah  goes  even  there  must  I 

"So?    And  which  is  Sarah?" 

"She  who  is  next." 

"With  the  child  ?     H-m— she  is  old  also." 

"She  has  been  younger,  Herr  Doctor." 

"I  meant  no  harm,  old  man.  That  you  may 
know  her  when  she  is  yet  older  is  my  wish." 

"May  the  Lord  spare  her,  Herr  Doctor.  And 
if  I  may  say  it — you  will  see  for  yourself — the  child 
is  her  life." 

"'Tis  not  hard  to  see  that.  But  if  you  will  step 
down  now  and  tell  her  to  come." 

Sarah  approached  haltingly.  She  still  carried 
Michel. 

"That  child — is  he  not  heavy,  old  mother?" 

"Oh,  no,  Herr  Doctor— not  little  Michel!" 

"But  you  must  set  him  down  now." 

"And  I  must,  Herr  Doctor?" 

"Only  for  a  little  while.  That  is  it.  And  now 
the  hair." 

Down  tumbled  the  hair.  Old  Joseph  remem- 
bered what  that  hair  was  once,  and,  remembering, 
sighed. 

"And  now  for  the  eyes.     The  head  this  way — 


so." 


II 


The  Emigrants 

The  faded  old  eyes  were  turned  toward  the 
light.  They  looked  like  eyes  that  had  wept  so 
much  they  could  weep  no  more. 

"  So — h-m —  And  now  this  way.  And  this  way 
once  more.  H-m-m —  You  have  seen  much 
trouble,  old  mother  ? " 

"Trouble  ?     Every  one  has  trouble." 

"It  is  true.  And  your  daughter — she  is  the 
only  child  now  ? " 

"The  only  child." 

"There  were  others  ?" 

"Five  are  buried,  Herr  Doctor — five  and  their 
father." 

"Ah!  and  your  daughter's  husband,  is  it  not, 
who  sends  the  money  for  passage  ?" 

"Henry  it  is — yes.  A  fine  boy,  and  who  has 
worked  so  hard  that  we  might  all  come  to  him 
together." 

"  So."  Longer,  and  yet  longer,  the  doctor  looked 
into  the  old  eyes.  Then  he  asked  her  further 
questions.  Afterward  she  could  not  remember 
what  the  questions  were — he  asked  so  many — and 
there  was  that  fearful  looking-glass  on  his  head; 
but  she  told  him  of  the  sickness  with  her  eyes. 
She  had  had  that  sickness  with  her  eyes  for  a  long 
time  now.  But  it  mattered  little.  She  could  see 
to  sew  in  the  long  nights  of  winter  and  to  make 
all  the  clothes  for  the  babies.     And  no  one  had 

12 


The  Emigrants 

ever  before  said  that  her  eyes  were  not  as  good 
for  that  as  any  other  eyes.  The  very  clothes  that 
little  Michel  then  had  on — where  was  he,  the 
little  imp?  Oh,  under  the  table — such  a  boy! 
those  clothes  were  the  envy  of  every  mother  in  the 
village.  And  her  own  eyes  had  overlooked  every 
stitch,  every  single  stitch.  Look,  the  Herr  Doator 
could  see  for  himself  that  the  work  was  well  done. 
Not  another  child  in  the  village  had  such  clothes. 
Children  of  the  rich  there  were  with  clothes  that 
would  not  show  finer  stitching. 

The  surgeon,  shaking  his  head,  turned  to  the 
superintendent.  She  could  not  understand  what 
it  was  they  said,  the  one  to  the  other — they  talked 
in  Polish  no  longer — but  there  was  that  in  their 
faces  and  gestures  which  troubled  her.  She  put 
her  hand  on  the  surgeon's  arm  even  before  he  had 
done  speaking  to  the  superintendent,  and  all  in  the 
room  trembled  for  her  boldness.  Her  other  hand 
clasped  little  Michel's  fingers. 

Then  the  superintendent,  who  seemed  to  talk  all 
languages — and  her  own  language  as  one  born  to 
it — called  Esther  over  and  whispered  to  her.  And 
Esther  mournfully  told  her  mother  that  she  would 
have  to  wait  for  a  time. 

"Wait  ?  And  why  ?"  It  was  plain  she  did  not 
understand. 

"There  is  not  money  enough  for  all,  His  Excel- 

*3 


The  Emigrants 

lence  says.  It  is  full  fare  for  children  over  four 
years  of  age,  and  half  fare  for  children  over 
ten  months.  And  Max  is  above  four  years,  and 
little  Michel  above  ten  months — they  have  de- 
cided. And  if  the  children  are  to  go,  some  one 
must  stay  behind — is  it  not  so,  Your  Excellence  ? " 

"It  is  so,  old  mother,"  confirmed  the  superin- 
tendent. 

Esther's  mother  looked  to  her  little  Michel,  and 
from  him  around  the  room.  Her  eyes  fastened 
on  the  slim  young  woman  with  the  fat  baby 
in  arms,  she  who  had  been  in  the  opposite  berth 
the  night  before,  and  just  ahead  of  them  in  line 
at  the  office.  All  had  remarked  that  since  leav- 
ing the  office  that  morning  not  once  had  she  set 
her  baby  down.  She  feared  to  have  to  buy  a 
ticket  for  him — 'twas  not  hard  to  see  that.  To 
her  Esther's  mother  rushed.  "See,  Herr  Excel- 
lence, see  you,  which  is  the  larger  ?  Or,  the  Herr 
Doctor,  who  understands  such  things  better,  see, 
which  is  the  older — this  one  or  my  little  Michel. 
Set  him  down — will  you  not  set  him  down  ?  Ah, 
she  will  not.  Look  again,  Herr  Doctor.  This 
one  has  been  passed,  has  he  not?" 

"It  is  true,"  said  the  superintendent. 

Then  did  Esther's  mother  force  the  young 
woman  to  set  the  fat  baby  on  the  floor.  In  an 
instant  he  was  rolling  toward  the  men. 

H 


The  Emigrants 

"Ten  months,  and  see  him  run!  Ten  months, 
and  free!  But  not  little  Michel  ?"  With  her  dry 
eyes  she  faced  the  superintendent.  "But  not 
little  Michel,  Heir  Doctor?" 

The  surgeon  shook  his  head.  The  soul  was  not 
open  to  his  knife.  Then,  suddenly,  he  wondered 
why  he  was  spending  so  much  time  over  this  case. 
Again  and  again  had  such  cases  come  before  him 
— not  exactly  alike  always,  but  much  alike.  How 
many  he  had  passed  by  before!  But  here  he  was 
this  morning.  It  could  not  be  merely  that  it  was 
a  fair,  warm,  summer's  morning — hardly  that. 
In  his  memory  were  a  thousand  other  fair,  warm 
mornings,  with  trees  nodding  outside  the  door 
and  the  blue  sky  beyond,  and  a  voice  as  pleading 
and  eyes  as  sad  as  these — almost.  Whatever  it 
was,  this  doctor,  who  examined  a  thousand  immi- 
grants a  month,  took  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to 
make  it  clear  to  Esther  why  it  was  her  mother 
could  not  go. 

"How  can  I  tell  her  ?"  said  Esther.  "She  can- 
not come,  and  yet  we  must  go  to  Henry,  who  is 
waiting  for  us." 

It  was  on  the  superintendent's  hint  that  she 
told  her  mother  that,  though  there  was  not  money 
enough  for  all  at  that  moment,  she  need  not  de- 
spair; for  when  they  reached  America  she  would 
have  Henry  send  her  ticket-money  back. 

*5 


The  Emigrants 

"Oh,  my  heart!"  said  Esther's  mother,  "and 
I  must  wait  until  that  money  comes  again  ?  You 
go  now  with  the  children,  and  not  I  ?  And  yet  it 
is  right — it  is  right.  Henry  is  impatient,  and  why 
not  ?  The  long  time  he  has  toiled  for  the  tickets, 
and  now  he  wishes  to  see  his  own.  Esther,  you 
are  his  own — and  the  children,  little  Michel  and 
all.  But  not  his  wife's  old  mother?  He  will 
await  every  steamer  now — go  to  the  office  and  ask 
for  Esther  and  the  babies.  Ah,  ah,  it  is  not  right. 
No,  I  do  not  mean  that.  Esther,  when  you  see 
him  you  will  tell  him,  and  surely  he  will  man- 
age to  send  the  money  soon.  And  yet  it  is  so 
much  to  save — eighty  rubles.  One  could  live  a 
long  time  at  home  on  so  much.  But  he  is 
good,  Henry,  and  he  will  not  complain,  and  he 
shall  see  how  I  will  make  it  up  in  care  of  the 
children.  You  and  Henry,  Esther,  will  have  need 
of  me.  I  will  be  taking  care  of  the  little  ones 
when  you  help  him  at  his  work.  But  little 
Michel " 

Old  Joseph  stepped  over.  Timidly  he  plucked 
the  superintendent  by  the  arm.  "I  have  enough 
— I  will  pay  for  Sarah's  ticket."  The  pouch  was 
in  his  hand,  the  string  from  around  his  neck. 

"Sh-h — "  said  the  superintendent,  and  told  him 
how  it  was. 

"Oh!"   said  old  Joseph. 
16 


The  Emigrants 

But  Esther's  mother  had  caught  sight  of  old 
Joseph,  and  divined  what  he  had  said.  "Ah, 
Joseph,  you  will  pay,  and  I  shall  not  have  to  wait." 

And  then  they  had  to  tell  her,  or  partly  tell  her 
— it  was  the  sickness  of  the  eyes. 

"Even  if  we  allowed  you  to  leave  here,  old 
mother,  they  would  send  you  back  from  New 
York.     The  American  surgeons  are  very  strict.,, 

It  took  her  some  time  to  understand  it.  Her 
courage  almost  left  her,  and  she  had  to  sit  down 
for  a  while;  but,  presently  gaining  a  little  strength, 
she  inquired  how  long  it  would  take  the  sickness 
to  leave  her.  If  she  took  good  care,  stayed  in  the 
darkened  room,  say,  by  the  time  Esther  and  her 
children  arrived  in  New  York  and  could  send  a 
letter  back — would  she  be  well  then  ?  Three 
weeks  or  more — four  weeks  it  might  be — five,  pos- 
sibly. Well,  in  five  weeks — what  a  long  time!  but 
in  five  weeks  would  the  sickness  be  cured  ? 

Then  it  was  that  they  told  Esther  the  whole 
truth.  Her  mother's  eyes  would  never  be  better. 
And  Esther  told  Joseph,  and  Joseph  led  her  away, 
with  her  fingers  still  clinging  to  little  Michel's 
hand,  and  she  still  of  the  opinion  that  in  a  few 
weeks  her  eyes  might  be  well  and  she  on  her  way 
to  join  the  children. 

After  that  it  was  time  for  bathing.  Every  one 
must  get  under  the  stream  of  water  and  get  such 

*7 


The  Emigrants 

a  wash  as  he  never  got  before.  They  told  Esther's 
mother  that  she  could  not  go  with  the  others,  that 
she  would  have  to 'give  up  little  Michel  because 
of  the  sickness  of  her  eyes.  In  a  little  while,  after 
they  had  been  through  the  bath,  little  Michel 
would  be  brought  back. 

She  protested  at  that.  "So  soon  to  lose  him 
for  long  weeks,  and  now  not  to  see  him  while  he 
is  washed?"  So  vehement  was  she  that  super- 
intendent and  surgeon  threw  up  their  hands 
and  allowed  her  to  have  her  way.  So  she  took 
little  Michel  into  the  women's  apartments 
and  gave  him  so  fine  a  warm  bath,  with  such 
a  plenty  of  soapsuds,  that  he  crowed  like  a  young 
rooster. 

"Such  a  boy!"  said  Esther's  mother,  and  held 
him  up,  rosy,  for  all  to  see,  and  later,  with  his 
glowing  face,  confronted  the  superintendent  tri- 
umphant. 

It  was  against  all  the  rules  that  Esther's  mother 
should  go  in  the  train  for  Hamburg.  But  she 
hung  onto  little  Michel,  to  whom  she  was  so 
soon  to  say  good-by — hung  on  so  tightly  that 
when  the  train  started  the  superintendent  said 
something  to  the  guard,  and  handed  him  a  paper; 
the  guard  in  reply  said,  "Very  good — Berlin"; 
that  and  something  else,  and  Esther's  mother, 
happy  and  smiling,  stayed  aboard. 

18 


The  Emigrants 

Everybody  in  the  car  felt  sorry  for  Esther's 
mother,  and  smiled  at  her  and  the  baby  when 
they  saw  that  she  had  had  her  way. 

All  that  night  and  all  next  morning  they  were 
confined  to  the  rickety  car,  on  the  side  of  which, 
in  large  black  letters,  were  the  words, 

RUSSISCHE   AUSWANDERER 

At  times,  along  the  way,  there  were  stations 
where,  the  guard's  vigilance  relaxing,  they  might 
have  had  time  to  run  out  and  procure  needful 
things;  but  if  their  own  guard  were  careless,  not 
so  the  others,  and  they  were  soon  rushed  back. 
Everybody  seemed  to  think  that  whoever  else  were 
accorded  privileges,  these  lowly  strangers  at  least 
should  be  given  no  liberty. 

The  young  fellow,  Moishe,  he  who  had  been  to 
America  before,  explained  how  it  was.  "Some 
years  ago  some  people — not  our  people,  but  others 
of  Russia — carried  the  cholera  into  Hamburg  and 
so  on  to  America;  and  since  then  none  are  allowed 
to  leave  the  cars  until  we  are  in  Hamburg,  and 
there  we  leave  them  only  for  the  Auswanderer- 
hallen,  and  there  it  is  lock  and  key  also,  until  we 
shall  be  on  the  steamer.  I  know,  for  it  was  so 
when  I  went  before  also,  although,  upon  my 
word,  it  seems  harder  now.  Next  time,  should  I 
come  back  again,  I  will  return  third  class — no  less." 

*9 


The  Emigrants 

At  Bromberg,  which  is  well  on  toward  Berlin, 
a  boy  having  grapes  for  sale  halted  under  the 
window  of  the  car.  "Ah!"  sighed  Esther,  "if  the 
babies  had  but  a  handful!"  Old  Joseph,  hearing, 
leaned  out,  motioned  for  the  full  of  his  hat,  and 
handed  down  a  ruble.     The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"He  will  have  none  of  your  Russian  money," 
said  Moishe.  "He  wants  German  money.  I  re- 
member that  it  was  so  before." 

"But  I  have  no  German  money,"  said  poor 
Joseph,  and  was  drawing  in  his  head  disconsolate 
when  they  were  perceived  by  a  young  fellow 
whom  they  had  themselves  already  noticed  as  one 
who  seemed  to  have  no  other  business  than  to 
walk  the  platform  and  observe  the  people  about 
him.  He  was  neither  German  nor  Russian,  they 
saw  at  once.  To  him,  when  he  came  over,  Moishe 
handed  Joseph's  ruble  and  spoke  some  words  in 
the  strange  tongue  with  which  he  used  to  converse 
with  the  superintendent  at  the  control  station  when 
he  wished  to  show  that  he  had  been  to  America. 

The  young  stranger  nodded,  and  for  Joseph's 
ruble  handed  back  German  money.  "Two  marks 
and  fifteen  pfennigs" — they  knew  that  much  of 
German  money;  and  then,  stopping  the  fruit  boy, 
he  purchased  the  platter  of  grapes  and  handed 
it  up  to  Esther's  mother.  Further,  he  ran  off 
and  came  back  with  a  precious  orange  for  each 

20 


The  Emigrants 

of  the  children.  Little  Michel's  hand  was  not 
large  enough  to  hold  his.  "There,"  said  Moishe 
proudly,  "that  is  the  American  kind.  Money, 
they  have  it  like  dirt  to  spend — these  rich  Ameri- 
cans.    You  will  find  them  everywhere." 

"Not  many  of  them  come  to  Poland,"  said  old 
Joseph;  "or,  if  so,  I  never  saw  them  in  our  vil- 
lage." 

Esther's  mother  fed  the  orange  to  little  Michel. 
Between  mouthfuls  she  hugged  him  tight,  and  in 
his  ear  whispered:  "Ah,  my  little  Michel,  some 
day — who  can  say — you  will  also  be  rich,  with 
money  to  spend  like  that;  and  with  the  money 
there  will  also  be  horses  and  carriages  and  grand 
houses  and  servants.  And  maybe  I  shall  live  to 
see  it,  and  if  so  it  may  be  that  I  shall  be  allowed 
there — in  the  grand  house — in  a  little  back  room 
up  under  the  roof  with  nobody  to  see  me,  but 
from  where  I  can  look  and  see  all,  knitting  your 
socks  for  the  bad  weather  and  putting  the  letters 
on  the  fine  linen  you  will  have  then.  Is  it  not  so, 
my  little  Michel?"  and  little  Michel  held  his 
mouth  up  for  more  orange. 

Not  long  after  that  it  came  to  an  end — at  Ber- 
lin, where  the  train  made  a  long  halt.  Esther's 
mother  had  almost  forgotten  that  she  was  not  to 
go,  and  was  beginning  to  believe  that  she  would  yet 
be  allowed  to  stay.     But  here  was  a  new  guard, 

21 


The  Emigrants 

one  with  less  kindness  than  the  other.  He  pulled 
out  a  paper  and  came  through  the  car,  calling 
loudly  her  name. 

"Sarah — I  cannot  read  it — but  Sarah  Some- 
thing, an  old  woman."  She  had  no  cause  to  an- 
swer— the  pitiful  look  that  came  to  her  worn  old 
face  would  have  made  her  known  out  of  a  multi- 
tude. 

She  pleaded  with  this  one,  even  as  she  had  with 
the  doctor  and  superintendent,  and  up  to  the  last 
moment  hoped  she  might  win  him  over.  But  this 
was  one  who  dared  not  or  could  not  go  beyond 
orders — out  of  the  car  he  lifted  her  as  the  train 
moved,  out  and  onto  the  platform. 

And  after  her  came  old  Joseph.  He  had  stopped 
not  for  bundles  or  boxes,  but  jumped  off  like  a 
youth  of  twenty. 

"You  must  tell  her  all,"  called  Esther  after  him. 

"I  will  tell  her." 

It  was  a  most  unheard-of  thing,  this  leaving 
the  car  by  one  against  whom  no  objection  was 
made;  and  the  astounded  guard,  with  no  prece- 
dent to  help  him  out,  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do. 
He  gesticulated  in  bewilderment,  but  the  train 
moved  out. 

Esther's  mother  did  not  see  Joseph.  She  had 
eyes  only  for  little  Michel,  with  his  arms  reach- 
ing out  of  the  window  toward  her,  out  over  his 

22 


The  Emigrants 

mother's  shoulder,  as  though  for  something  he 
missed. 

Long  after  the  train  was  out  of  sight  she  stood 
there,  despairing.  Only  when  fatigue  compelled 
her  did  she  move  to  a  bench,  and  then  only  to  cast 
her  weary  body  down  and  hold  a  tight  hand  to 
her  aching  eyes  and  head.  Joseph,  saying  noth- 
ing, sat  on  another  bench. 

By  and  by  the  train  that  was  to  take  her  back 
to  Russia  came,  and,  arising,  she  saw  him  sitting 
there. 

"You,  Joseph?  And  why?  Why,  O  Joseph, 
did  you  turn  back,  too  ?" 

"Why  ?  Why  ?  As  if  you  did  not  know.  You  in 
Poland  and  I  stay  in  America  ?     I  am  old,  Sarah." 

"And  I  am  old,  too,  Joseph — so  old,  and  never 
knew  till  now." 

It  was  in  the  control  station  on  the  frontier 
that  she  was  told  the  worst.  It  had  to  be  told 
her.  She  had  to  be  made  to  understand  why  it 
was  that  she  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  stay  there 
until  the  ticket  should  come  from  America — if 
all  the  tickets  in  the  world  were  to  come,  still  she 
could  not  go. 

It  was  old  Joseph  who  told  her. 

"So,"  she  said,  "so.  Oh,  you  were  a  good 
boy.  And  Max,  Jacob,  Joseph — good  children, 
all.    And  Esther,  my  daughter,  you  were  good, 

23 


The  Emigrants 

too — Esther,  yes.  But  Michel,  O  my  heart!  Oh, 
my  little  Michel " 

Then  it  was  the  tears  came. 

"That  is  better,"  said  the  surgeon.  "But  she 
will  need  care,  old  man,  when  she  is  back  in  Po- 
land again — for  all  her  days,  it  may  be." 

"She  shall  have  care,"  said  Joseph,  "and  for 
all  her  days,  if  need  be." 

Between  the  control  station  and  their  old  home 
in  Poland  she  spoke  only  once.  Without  lifting 
her  head  she  reached  out  her  hand. 

"Joseph?" 

"I  am  here." 

"When  the  letters  come  from  America  it  may  be 
that  my  eyes — you  heard  what  the  doctor  said  ? — 
my  eyes — and  in  the  letters  may  be  things  that  are 
not  for  others  to  see —  But  I  do  not  mind  you, 
Joseph — and  also  there  will  be  such  things  as 
little  Michel  will  write  when  he  grows  up — you 
know,  Joseph  ? " 

"I  know,  Sarah." 

"And  so  I  may  need  eyes,  Joseph.  It  is  hard 
to  say  only  that,  to  be  only  a  burden  to  thee  at 
the  last,  but  I  may  need  eyes,  Joseph." 

"Thou  shalt  have  eyes,  Sarah." 


24 


TSHUSHIMA  STRAITS 


Tshushima  Straits 

IT  was  the  Russian  battle-fleet  steaming  north- 
erly toward  the  Sea  of  Japan.  Twenty  ships 
were  in  column  and  ten  miles  an  hour  the  speed. 
From  the  quarter-deck  of  the  Kremlin  the  Ameri- 
can could  hear  the  crew  of  the  big  turret  at  drill. 
By  the  clanking  echo  of  the  tumbling  tray  he 
could  guess  their  speed. 

He  shook  his  head  to  himself.  "No  doubt 
you're  brave  and  all  that,  but  you  could  stand  an 
awful  lot  of  practice." 

By  and  by,  the  loading  tray  no  longer  sound- 
ing, the  form  of  a  sailor  emerged  from  the  turret 
hatch.  A  moment,  as  if  to  get  his  bearings, 
another  as  if  to  take  in  the  scene,  and  then  in  two 
nervous  bounds  he  made  the  deck. 

The  American  knew  him  for  his  man,  but  he 
finished  his  cigarette  before  stepping  over  to  the 
other's  side.  "Is  not  this  Stephan  Demetri  Har- 
lov  so  called,  turret  captain  ?" 

"So  called,"  the  other  replied  in  English,  "so 
called?"  And  then  in  French,  "You  speak  a 
strange  tongue,  m'sieur." 

27 


Tshushima  Straits 

"Etranger?  Eh  bien,  have  it  so,"  the  Ameri- 
can retorted  in  French.     "You  do  not  recall  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are  the  American  quartermaster 
we  shipped  at  Hong-Kong." 

"I  am  also  an  American  naval  officer  on  a 
leave  of  absence.  My  name  is  Mannix.  I  am 
that  same  young  Mannix,  the  Annapolis  cadet, 
who  spent  most  of  his  furloughs  in  coming  to 
see  Her  Grace's  sister — before  she  became  Her 
Grace,  that  was.    Does  M'sieur  Harlov  recollect  ?" 

The  Russian  paused  before  answering,  and 
then  he  spoke  in  English.  "I  recollect — very 
well.  Ensign  Mannix  now,  is  it  not?  But  you 
have  changed." 

"Naturally,  of  course — in  seven  years." 

"And  how  is  the  pretty  little  Madeleine  ?" 

"Quite  well,  thanks." 

"Not  Mrs.  Mannix  yet?" 

"Not  yet.  And  perhaps  never.  But  she  is 
concerned,  and  I  am  concerned,  and  her  sister  is 
concerned  in  what  I  have  to  say  to  you — if  Ste- 
phan  Demetri  Harlov,  enlisted  man  in  His  Im- 
perial Majesty's  navy,  has  a  short  half-hour  to 
spare  ? " 

"Some  matters,  Mr.  Mannix — is  it  not  best  to 
let  some  matters  rest  ? " 

"Not  this  matter,  Your  Grace.     To-morrow  you 

fight,  and  to-morrow,  possibly " 

28 


Tshushima  Straits 

"—I  die?" 

"Exactly." 

"And  why  not  you  die  also  ?" 

"Exactly." 

"And  if  I  die  and  you  die,  how  can  it  matter 
then?" 

"It  will  not  matter  to  us.     But  Her  Grace " 

"Meaning?"  There  was  a  note  of  mockery  in 
the  Russian's  voice. 

"Meaning" —  there  was  a  note  of  stubbornness 
in  the  American's — "meaning  Her  Grace,  Miss 
Madeleine's  sister — my  sister-in-law,  possibly,  if 
I  return  from  my  mission." 

"Ah-h,  a  mission?" 

"Exactly — a  mission." 

It  was  a  night  of  drizzle  with  recurring  fog, 
and  they  had  been  peering  into  each  other's  faces 
while  talking.  Now  the  Russian  looked  suddenly 
away.  "What  a  scene  for  a  drama!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "See  that  taffrail  plunging.  The  drip- 
ping deck  beneath  us — gleaming  distantly.  And 
outboard " —  he  swept  his  arm  in  half  a  circle — 
"profoundly  dark,  except  where  on  the  swirl  of 
the  tidal  waters  the  sweeping  search-lights  play." 

The  Russian  pointed  to  where  astern  was  a 
towing  spar  on  which  three  search-lights  were 
concentrated;  and  listening  and  looking,  Mannix 
began  to  appreciate  the  sensitive  side  of  this  man 

29 


Tshushima  Straits 

who  could  see,  weigh,  believe,  and  judge  in  an 
instant.  "They  make  one  think  of  mad  porcu- 
pines charging  like  that,  do  they  not?"  And 
again  the  fog  enveloping  and  the  safety  signal 
whistles  sounding,  "We  make  so  much  noise 
and  display  so  many  lights!  But  it  will  not  come 
to-night.  No,  not  to-night.  For  what  fleet  could 
preserve  an  effective  battle-formation  in  this  sea 
and  tide  and  gloom  ?  They  would  be  shelling 
each  other  before  they  were  done.  And  to-mo- 
row — to-morrow!"  he  laid  a  hand  on  the  Ameri- 
can's arm;  "for  to  get  through  the  straits  without 
meeting  Togo's  fleet,  we  cannot  expect  that — 
nor  wish  it.  No,  no.  And" — this  under  his 
breath  almost — "there  can  be  but  one  outcome. 
But  let  us  go  inside,"  and  Mannix  followed  him 
to  the  turret,  where  the  other  switched  on  an 
electric  light. 

A  short,  hardy,  immensely  powerful-looking 
sailor  leaped  to  his  feet  and  stood  to  attention. 
"S-st!"  hissed  Harlov;  but  not  until  he  had  seen 
the  American  did  the  sailor  relax. 

"And  now?"  queried  the  Russian. 

"And  now,"  began  Mannix,  and  in  the  most 
rapid  and  concise  language  of  which  he  was  master 
made  it  clear  how  it  was  that  his  companion  had 
come  to  misunderstand.  In  this  cause  Mannix 
could   be  eloquent.     The   Russian  was  quick  to 

30 


Tshushima  Straits 

see.  His  cynicism  began  to  leave  him.  Man- 
nix  did  not  have  to  half  explain  things.  "Yes, 
yes,  go  on.  Yes,  yes,"  the  Russian  kept  repeat- 
ing. "But  it  is  almost  incredible,  nevertheless — 
a  plot  from  the  most  dramatic  stage  almost.  A 
man  that  I  know  as  a  friend — it  is  almost  incon- 
ceivable." 

"Yet  it  is  true.  I  was  with  him  when  he  died 
— in  his  own  cabin.  He  sent  for  me.  Dying, 
he  wished  to  make  amends.  For  years  his  wild 
passion  had  goaded  him  to  the  most  ingenious 
schemes  to  win — pardon,  but  it  is  so — the  love  of 
Her  Grace.  He  considered  the  battle  half  won 
when  you  doubted.  But  he  did  not  know  this 
American  girl — a  thousand  like  him  could  not 
have  stirred  her.  Only  he  had  to  arrive  at  death's 
door  to  learn  that.  But  once  convinced,  he  went 
just  as  far  the  other  way  to  make  amends.  It  was 
his  own  idea,  the  death-bed  confession  which  I 
drew  up  and  he  signed." 

"What!" 

"Yes,  and  before  witnesses." 

Two  bells  struck.  Mannix  stood  up.  "I  must 
go,  for  at  nine  o'clock  I  was  to  report  to  my  di- 
vision officer.  But  here  is  the  confession.  Read 
it.  And  if  you  say,  I  will  see  you  in  the  morning 
— if  all  goes  well." 

"Yes,  yes,  in  the  morning.     Adieu." 

31 


Tshushima  Straits 

The  division  officer  was  detained,  and  so  Man- 
nix  was  told  to  wait  in  the  passageway  for  him. 
From  where  he  stood  he  could  look  into  the  ward- 
room. Several  officers  were  lounging  there.  One 
was  ordering  wine  for  himself  and  another,  in- 
structing the  boy  carefully  as  to  the  rare  vin- 
tage. "A  pretty  duty,"  he  observed  to  his  com- 
panion, "an  economic  principle.  If  we  do  not 
drink  it  to-night,  it  will  probably  rest  on  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  to-morrow.     And  a  pity  that." 

At  this  point  an  officer,  a  lieutenant,  entered 
the  ward-room.  "You  seem  pleased  at  the  pros- 
pect," he  said  reprovingly  to  the  wine-drinker, 
laying  a  bundle  on  the  table. 

"No,  no,  no."  The  other  smiled  and  raised  a 
deprecating  hand.  "Not  pleased,  but  the  thought 
of  the  excitement,  it  does  relieve  the  strain.  But 
what  have  you  there,  Nicolas  Osin  ?" 

"  It  is  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  I  am  looking  for  a 
cord  to  tie  them  up." 

"Clothes!  Have  you  not  your  underclothes, 
and  will  they  not  be  enough  to  swim  in  when  the 
time  comes  ? " 

"No,  no,  a  suit  of  clothes  to  dress  properly — 
afterward.  I  shall  stow  these  somewhere  on  the 
gun-deck,  and  afterward " 

"And  how  if  there  is  no  afterward  ?  How  if 
one  of  your  guns  blows  up  and  you  with  it  ?" 

32 


Tshushima  Straits 

"Ah-h,"  and  Nicolas  Osin  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders.    "Then  I  shall  will  them  to  you." 

Two  or  three  laughed,  and  one  by  the  pianola, 
who  had  stopped  his  playing  to  catch  the  retort, 
set  the  machine  in  motion  again.  It  was  a  Ger- 
man pianola,  and  Mendelssohn's  "Spring  Song" 
that  he  was  rolling  out. 

Three  others  were  gathered  at  a  table  on  the 
starboard  side,  while  a  fourth  was  playing  soli- 
taire under  the  centre  cluster  of  incandescent 
lights.  The  officer  with  the  bundle,  by  a  gesture, 
indicated  the  solitaire  player.  "Look  at  him 
now!" 

The  solitaire  player  looked  up.  "Oh,  well,  it 
is  you,  Nicolas  Osin,  Vice-Admiral  Misanthrope, 
cheer  up."  And  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  bundle  of 
clothing,  "You  are  wise,  too,  Nicolas  Osin.  To- 
morrow morning,  when  I  go  off  watch,  I  will 
envelop  myself  in  the  newest  of  underclothing, 
even  to  new  socks,  all  of  silk.  The  doctor  says 
that  if  one  is  dressed  in  clean  underclothing  the 
danger  of  blood-poisoning  from  a  wound  is  much 
lessened.  I  should  not  like  to  die  that  way — by 
blood-poisoning." 

"Doctors,"  said  the  officer  at  the  pianola, 
"doctors  give  useful  advice — sometimes." 

"As  to  that,"  began  the  solitaire  player,  "I 
could  tell  you — "  But  did  not,  for  just  then  one 

33 


Tshushima  Straits 

of  the  three  officers  of  the  starboard  side  began 
to  unroll  a  plan  of  something. 

"Ho  there!"  The  solitaire  player  scooped  his 
cards  into  one  pile.  "What  have  you  there, 
Alexai  Fatischeff?  Plans  of  battle  evolutions, 
devolutions,  revolutions  ? " 

"  It  is  a  plan  of  my  estate." 

"What  a  lucky  man — to  have  an  estate!" 

"I  shall  be  luckier  if—"     He  did  not  finish. 

"We  shall  all  be  lucky,  my  friend,  if  by  this 
time  to-morrow  night " 

"You  croaking  frog  you,  shut  up!"  came  from 
the  two  companions  of  Alexai  Fatischeff.  "  Shut 
up  and  go  to  bed!" 

An  officer  in  dripping  oil-clothes  entered  the 
room.  A  half-dozen  questions  assailed  him  at 
once.  "Still  (oggy — yes.  And  choppy — a  little. 
And  the  search-lights  still  playing  ?  Yes.  Only 
for  the  towing  spars  we  should  have  run  into  each 
other  a  dozen  times  to-night.  And  the  enemy  ? 
No  telling,  but  our  wireless  operator  has  been 
picking  up  wireless  messages  regularly." 

"Then  to-morrow?" 

"It  looks  like  it,"  and  he  passed  on. 

Mannix's  division  officer  came  along  then. 
"Ah-h,"  he  spied  Mannix,  gave  him  some  rapid 
instructions  in  the  event  of  a  battle  on  the  mor- 
row, and  then  dismissed  him. 

34 


Tshushima  Straits 

Mannix's  way  out  led  past  the  quarters  of  the 
senior  officers.  Here  some  doors  were  opened, 
some  closed;  but  there  was  a  light  shining  out 
from  all.  And  such  occupants  as  he  could  see 
seemed  very  much  occupied,  either  writing  or 
overhauling  the  contents  of  their  desks.  On  the 
room  door  of  one  of  these,  that  of  Lieutenant 
Pushkin,  who  had  charge  of  the  after-turret,  Man- 
nix  knocked.    Pushkin  knew  of  Mannix's  mission. 

Following  the  invitation  to  enter,  Mannix 
looked  in.  Pushkin  was  at  his  desk.  He  was 
writing  furiously  and  did  not  look  up. 

"I  came  to  wish  you  good  luck  in  case  there 
should  not  be  too  much  time  to-morrow,"  said 
Mannix. 

"Thank  you.  It  is  good  of  you.  And  to  you, 
also,  good  luck."  He  regarded  Mannix  kindly. 
"And  is  it  all  right  with  Stephan  Demetri  ?" 

"I  think  it  will  be.  On  the  eve  of  a  battle  a 
man  is  more  likely  to  forget  his  little  ego.  Only 
now  I  am  worrying  for  him  in  the  battle.  But 
you  are  writing  home  ? " 

"Yes,"  and  Pushkin  smiled  absently.  "To 
my  wife.  And  my  little  girl — fourteen  years.  A 
hard  world,  and  so  a  little  word  to  her  and  advice 
how  to  bring  her  up — in  case,  in  case — you  know." 

"Of  course.     Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

35 


Tshushima  Straits 


II 


Next  morning  Mannix,  walking  the  superstruc- 
ture, heard  a  gentle,  "My  friend,  I  thank  you." 
It  was  the  sailor,  Stephan  Demetri,  saluting  him. 
"You  have  done  me  and  mine  a  great  service, 
and  at  great  peril  to  yourself.  Yes,  great  risk; 
for  somewhere  in  that  haze  ahead  of  us  an  enemy, 
a  brave,  fanatically  brave  enemy  is  waiting.  And 
has  been  waiting — for  months,  and  not  grown 
weary  in  the  waiting.  So  it  may  be  I  shall  not 
get  another  chance  to  speak  with  you.  I  have 
done  my  wife  a  great  wrong.  And  I  ask,  should  I 
die  and  you  live,  that  you  will  tell  her  so." 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  die.  You  will  live 
to  tell  her  yourself." 

"No,  no.  I  know  our  captain.  And  all  ships 
which  do  not  strike  their  colors  will  be  sunk.  We 
are  not  properly  prepared  for  battle.  But  those 
of  us  who  are  to  die  will  not  regret  it,  if  only  our 
example  shall  not  be  lost." 

"You  must  live.  There  is  the  little  fellow 
also." 

"Yes,  yes,  but  all  things  must  give  way  now 
to — "  he  pointed  to  the  flag  at  the  peak.  "And 
now  it  is  eight  bells — battle  stations  in  our  turret. 
Adieu."      He    gripped    ManmYs    hand,    saluted 

36 


Tshushima  Straits 

profoundly,  and  hurried  down  to  the  quarter- 
deck. 

All  the  morning  a  haze  hung  over  the  sea.  The 
wireless  operator  was  still  picking  up  cipher  mes- 
sages which,  his  judgment  told  him,  could  only 
come  from  ships  not  many  miles  away.  The 
haze  and  these  undecipherable  messages  bred  a 
feeling  of  uneasiness. 

At  noon  Mannix  was  called  to  the  bridge  and 
given  the  wheel;  and  no  more  than  had  hold  of  it 
than  there  emerged  from  out  of  the  haze  a  long, 
fast-moving  steamer.  All  the  signal  men  in  the 
fleet  jumped  to  their  long  glasses,  but  while  they 
were  yet  trying  to  distinguish  her  colors  she  dis- 
appeared. She  could  not  have  been  more  than 
four  thousand  yards  away,  and  Mannix  specu- 
lated on  what  would  have  happened  to  her  if  his 
own  China  squadron  were  involved.  A  challenge 
it  would  have  been,  and  at  once  an  explanation, 
or  a  seven-inch  shell  would  then  and  there  have 
ended  her  cruising  days. 

The  haze  thinned,  with  Mannix  still  at  the 
wheel  of  the  Kremlin,  when  they  came  into  view. 
Up  to  the  northward  they  were,  and  for  them 
clearly  no  surprise.  Almost  before  they  were  seen 
from  the  Kremlin  s  bridge  they  were  swung  into 
column,  and  headed  westerly  across  the  Russian 
course. 

37 


Tshushima  Straits 

The  Russian  flag-ship  signalled  a  change  of 
course.  Ere  yet  he  had  done  putting  his  wheel 
over,  Mannix  saw  the  enemy  were  changing  to 
meet  it,  and  having  greater  speed  were  more 
prompt  in  execution.  Months  on  the  way  had 
the  Russian  fleet  been;  with  grass  growing  on 
their  bottoms  and  machinery  not  in  the  best  of 
condition,  they  were  out-manoeuvred  from  the 
first. 

From  his  station  on  the  open  bridge  of  the 
Kremlin,  Mannix  had  a  good  view  of  everything 
ahead.  He  thrilled  as  he  read  the  signal  that 
broke  the  battle  flags  out.  And  out  they  floated. 
Men's  nerves  strained  to  snapping  at  the  sight. 
They  cheered  with  something  of  hysteria.  The 
enemy  followed:  The  sunburst  of  Japan,  but 
nothing  cheerful  to  that  sun. 

A  shell  came  wide  of  the  Russian  battle-ship's 
bows.  Another — still  wide.  The  careless  sight- 
ing shots  of  a  confident  foe  they  seemed.  Another 
and  another — nearer.  The  next  struck  close  to 
the  Kremlin  s  bow,  throwing  high  a  column  of 
water  which  drenched  some  sailors  on  the  fore- 
castle of  the  flag-ship.  They  ducked  and  ran  back 
laughing.  The  shell  continued  on,  ricochetting,  on 
to  the  next  in  line  without  exploding.  Another 
came  skipping  by.  A  sailor  threw  a  piece  of  coal 
after  it.     All  who  witnessed  this  laughed,  and  the 

38 


Tshushima  Straits 

laughter  relieved  the  tension.  Everybody  on  the 
bridge  had  a  word  or  two  to  say  then. 

"I  see  nothing  wonderful  in  their  shooting/' 
said  one.  "Ho,  ho,  they  boasted  it  would  be  like 
breaking  pipes  in  a  shooting-gallery. "  Mannix 
recognized  in  him  the  officer  of  the  pianola.  He 
turned  on  Mannix.  "They  are  reported  to  have 
some  American  gunners  aboard  some  of  their 
ships.  What  of  that,  you  American  i"  He  said 
it  half  in  malice,  half  in  fun. 

"There  was  no  American  behind  that,  be  sure 
of  that,  sir.  Our  apprentice  boys  straight  from 
the  training-ships  could  do  better  than  that." 

The  Russian  ships  were  painted  black,  the 
Japanese  gray,  a  war  gray.  Everything  gray — 
hulls,  stacks,  stays,  tops,  masts,  bridges — every- 
thing. And  those  gray  silhouettes  were  in  one 
long  single  column,  steaming,  perhaps,  fifteen 
knots;  and  with  the  turmoil  of  their  wakes  and  the 
white  masses  at  every  bow,  they  gave  one  some- 
thing to  think  about.  Even  in  a  peaceful  evolu- 
tion, a  silent  column  of  war-ships  sliding  rapidly 
past  without  fuss  or  noise — the  rapid  sliding  of 
a  score  of  great,  grim,  gray  ships  across  the  gray 
seascape,  it  is  wonderfully  impressive.  Even  in 
times  of  peace  it  is  so,  but  now  it  was  war!  the 
destiny  of  two  nations,  perhaps  of  two  great  races, 
depending  on  the  outcome. 

39 


Tshushima  Straits 

What  officers  were  on  the  bridge  were  viewing 
matters  most  calmly;  but  down  in  his  heart 
Mannix,  though  he  would  not  have  uttered  the 
thought  to  these  Russians  nor  listened  if  another 
said  as  much  to  him,  down  in  his  heart  the  feel- 
ing would  not  be  dislodged — before  even  the 
first  shell  burst  that  day  these  gray  ships  looked 
the  masters.  And  making  up  his  mind  to  that, 
Mannix  breathed  a  prayer  for  Madeleine  whom, 
he  made  up  his  mind  then,  he  was  never  to  see 
again. 

After  four  hours  at  the  wheel,  and  perhaps  five 
minutes  after  those  first  fighting  shots,  Mannix 
was  relieved,  but  with  instructions  to  be  within 
call.  He  descended  to  the  chart  bridge,  one  deck 
below,  and  there  waited. 

Now  the  Russians  were  capped.  Every  Japa- 
nese ship  lay  ready,  with  a  whole  broadside  to 
the  head  of  the  Russian  column.  And  at  once  the 
Japanese  opened  up.  Every  ship  in  that  long, 
gray  line  opened  up  on  the  first  four  ships  of  the 
Russian  line.  Only  those  first  four  ships  were 
within  range  of  the  Japanese.  Mannix' s  ship  was 
in  that  first  four.  It  was  a  rain  of  metal.  All 
about  the  sea  was  white-capped  with  the  rico- 
chetting  shells.  Had  but  one-quarter  of  them 
come  aboard,  the  Russian  leaders  would  all  have 
been  sunk  in  that  first  twenty  minutes.     But  in 

40 


Tshushima  Straits 

that  short  time  enough  shells  came  aboard — with- 
out leaving  the  chart  bridge  Mannix  could  see 
that — enough  to  make  a  mess  of  steel  partitions, 
enough  to  make  splinters  of  most  of  the  wood- 
work (which  should  long  ago  have  been  removed, 
but  wasn't),  enough  to  dismount  several  guns,  to 
bowl  over  several  gun  crews.  Mannix  would 
have  liked  to  run  about  the  ship  to  observe  better 
how  the  men  were  behaving,  but  he  did  not  dare 
to  get  too  far  away  in  case  they  should  need  him 
at  the  wheel.  But  even  from  where  he  was  he 
caught  characteristic  touches  of  the  fighting  Slav. 
Almost  beneath  him  he  saw  a  gunner  stop,  squint 
out  of  a  gun-port  to  see  what  was  doing,  suck  in 
his  cheeks,  say  most  thoughtfully,  "Well,  well, 
but  this  cannot  last  long — they  will  soon  have 
no  shells  left  at  this  rate,  and  then  what  will 
they  do?" 

But  mostly  the  men  said  nothing,  except  to 
utter  soft  remarks  to  themselves.  The  work  of 
the  guns,  of  lifting  the  wounded  out  of  the  way, 
of  making  repairs,  absorbed  them.  They  looked 
neither  one  way  nor  the  other,  saw  litde  except 
the  shell  which  they  had  to  hoist  into  the  breech, 
or  the  breech-block  which  they  had  to  crank 
home,  or  the  enemy's  ships  through  the  long- 
sighting  telescope.  There  were  men  who  paused 
helplessly  in  the  very  height  of  all  this,  probably 

4* 


Tshushima  Straits 

peasants  who  at  the  last  moment  had  been  driven 
aboard.  Some  of  these  had  never  seen  a  ship  of 
the  kind  until  that  day  when  they  had  come  over 
the  gangplank  at  Libau.  One  of  these  looked  up 
and,  seeing  the  eyes  of  Mannix  fixed  kindly  on 
him — a  gun  was  disabled  and  the  crew  were  trying 
to  make  the  necessary  repairs — he  paused  to  say, 
"If  yon  was  a  horse,  or  a  cow,  or  a  sheep  now,  I 
could  show  you  how  to  doctor  him." 

An  officer  called  down  to  Mannix  and  sent  him 
off  with  a  message  to  the  chief  of  the  powder  divi- 
sion. From  that  Mannix  guessed  that  the  internal 
communications  had  been  shot  away,  and  also 
that  many  of  the  messenger  boys  had  been  killed 
off.  Down  between  decks  he  met  with  a  few 
skulkers  in  the  passageways,  waiting,  no  doubt, 
for  the  battle  to  end.  Some  ugly  stories  had  been 
set  afloat  before  the  fight,  and,  no  doubt  of  it, 
there  were  many  mutineers  in  that  crew.  Man- 
nix found  his  powder-division  officer.  He  was 
the  same  who  had  been  playing  solitaire  in  the 
ward-room  the  night  before.  When  Mannix  came 
upon  him  he  was  calmly  shooting  down  one  of 
these  mutineers  in  an  ammunition  passageway. 
The  man  did  not  even  cry  out  as  he  crumpled  up, 
and  the  others  there  hardly  looked  at  him.  They 
had  not  time,  and  besides,  as  one  observed,  he 
deserved  it. 

42 


Tshushima  Straits 

On  his  way  back  Mannix  saw  that  it  was  going 
hard  with  his  ship.  The  gunners,  they  meant 
well,  but  they  did  not  know  how.  It  was  true 
that  most  of  the  Jap  shells  went  wide  too,  but 
they  were  pumping  them  out  so  fast  that  if  but 
one  in  ten  found  a  mark  it  was  enough.  Man- 
nix saw  that  one  shell  was  jammed  in  a  port  on 
the  gun-deck  and  two  plates  were  torn  away  from 
her  forward;  above  the  water-line,  it  was  true,  and 
no  great  danger  from  that  yet  because  of  the 
smoothness  of  the  sea,  but  if  the  ship  should  list 
toward  that  side!  There  were  holes  in  smoke- 
stacks— several;  but  as  yet  only  one  showed  signs 
of  toppling  over. 

Mannix  caught  a  flying  rumor  of  a  hole  below 
her  water-line  aft,  and  also  of  an  explosion  in 
the  after-turret  magazine.  This  was  the  Duke's 
turret.  He  wanted  to  rush  aft  to  find  out  more 
about  it,  but  felt  he  might  be  needed  on  the 
bridge.  And  he  was.  The  helmsman  had  just 
been  killed.  His  blood  was  yet  on  the  spokes, 
making  them  difficult  to  grasp.  Mannix  was  busy 
for  a  few  minutes  rubbing  first  one  hand  and 
then  the  other  against  his  blouse,  to  clear  them 
of  the  blood. 

The  enemy,  having  successfully  completed  their 
first  manoeuvre,  were  now  about  to  attempt  a 
loop  about  the  entire  Russian  fleet.     They  went 

43 


Tshushima  Straits 

about  it  in  a  superbly  insolent  manner,  as  if  what 
the  Russians  did  could  not  matter.  Mannix 
said  to  himself,  "God!  there's  a  fleet  I  know  of 
that  you  couldn't  try  that  on  and  get  away  with 
it!"  Possibly  he  said  it  aloud,  or  showed  by  his 
expression  what  he  was  thinking  of,  for  an  officer, 
the  pianola-player,  turned  and  smiled  on  him. 

The  next  instant  the  entire  port  side  of  the 
bridge  caved  in.  Also  the  steering-gear  was 
parted.  "You  are  out  of  a  job,"  said  the  pia- 
nola-player. An  instant  later  he  was  struck 
with  a  shell.  "And  I  also!"  he  added,  and  lay 
still.  Mannix  looked  and  saw  that  the  stan- 
chions supporting  the  bridge  had  been  shot  away 
on  one  side.  Shells  were  whistling  through  all 
the  free  space  on  the  bridge.  "Some  qualified 
gun-pointer  has  got  the  range  of  this  place," 
thought  Mannix,  and  was  about  to  find  a  new 
post  when  he  felt  a  dull  blow  in  the  side.  It  was 
not  painful,  and  he  could  not  understand  why  he 
went  down.  He  was  puzzling  that  out  when  he 
was  almost  overcome  by  a  feeling  of  nausea.  It 
was  difficult  for  him  to  keep  from  vomiting.  And 
the  funny  thing  was  that  he  had  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  breakfast.  He  may  have  lost  conscious- 
ness, or  he  may  have  merely  lost  track  of  time, 
but  certainly  the  next  notice  he  took  was  of  him- 
self being  on  the  forward  end  of  the  forecastle 

44 


Tshushima  Straits 

head  and  looking  up  at  the  bridge-works,  which 
had  collapsed  and  were  burning.  "Queer  that," 
thought  Mannix,  and,  though  he  did  not  know 
why  he  did  it,  climbed  up  on  the  forward  turret 
where  was  a  man  on  his  knees.  He  was  gazing 
down  into  the  turret,  that  officer.  Mannix  knelt 
beside  him.  "What  do  you  think?"  he  said  to 
Mannix,  and  pointed  inside.  Mannix  looked. 
Every  man  there  was  dead.  It  must  have  been 
instant  incineration  with  all  of  them.  Bodies 
there  that  if  a  hand  were  but  laid  upon  them  would 
have  crumbled  like  the  dust  they  were.  Charred 
to  ashes  these,  but  with  the  outlines  of  the  forms 
perfectly  preserved. 

Mannix  took  another  look.  On  the  casemate, 
not  a  mark;  of  the  guns,  no  displacement.  This 
was  the  only  man  of  all  that  turret  crew  who  had 
been  left  alive.  He  had  been  sent  off  with  a  mes- 
sage, and  had  only  got  his  head  into  the  under- 
hatch  on  his  return  when  the  shell  struck.  He 
seemed  hard  of  hearing  and  very  much  aston- 
ished. "Why,  I  felt  nothing,  Your  Excellency, 
absolutely  nothing.  But  it  was  terribly — O  ter- 
ribly hot!"  he  added.  "And  what  shall  I  do 
now,  I  wonder?"  He  repeated  that  last,  "What 
shall  I  do?"  several  times. 

Mannix  suddenly  found  himself  wondering  why 
it  was  he  felt  no  horror.     But  so  it  was.     He  was 

45 


Tshushima  Straits 

like  a  man  on  the  side-lines  watching  some  game, 
but  much  less  wrought  up  than  if  it  were  the — the 
annual  game  between  the  army  and  the  navy  say. 
Thinking  to  get  word  of  the  Duke,  Mannix 
went  aft.  Treading  his  way  through  the  debris 
of  the  gun-deck,  he  saw  that  half  the  port  battery 
had  been  put  out  of  commission.  "And  the  fight 
not  yet  half  over,"  he  thought.  Blood  was  not  yet 
everywhere,  but  there  was  already  more  than  was 
pleasant  to  see  or  smell.  Wounded  men  were 
being  taken  below  to  the  hospital;  but  there  were 
too  many  for  the  hospital  corps,  and  so  here  and 
there  were  groups  attending  to  themselves.  Ban- 
daging each  other  they  were  mostly.  They  were 
rather  serious,  but  not  too  much  so.  That  it  was 
a  great  battle  they  were  engaged  in  seemed  not 
to  have  any  intellectual  interest  for  them.  They 
were  wounded,  that  was  all.  Some  were  gone 
beyond  hope  and  knew  it.  "Ah-h,  if  I  had  but 
a  samovar  now,  I  would  make  me  a  fine  last  cup 
of  tea,"  said  one  in  a  wistful  voice.  Mannix  saw 
another  with  his  back  to  a  bulkhead,  his  legs 
stretched  out  before  him,  rolling  a  cigarette. 
Having  only  one  arm  left,  he  was  having  diffi- 
culty. He  hailed  Mannix,  otherwise  Mannix 
would  never  have  known;  for,  bareheaded,  black- 
ened, stripped  to  his  undershirt,  there  was  no 
mark  or  rank  to  distinguish  him  from  any  enlisted 

46 


Tshushima  Straits 

man.  Mannix  turned  back  at  the  call,  and  saw 
that  it  was  the  officer  who  had  been  tying  up  his 
clothes  the  evening  before,  he  who  had  been  called 
Nicolas  Osin.  "I  shall  not  need  them  after  all. 
If  you  want  them — we  know  of  you — they  are 
there,"  and  he  nodded  his  head  toward  a  wooden 
chest  which,  in  some  way,  had  escaped  demolition. 

"  But  you  are  far  from  being  dead,"  exclaimed 
Mannix.     "One  arm,  what  is  that?" 

"One  arm?"  Nicolas  Osin  smiled,  almost 
proudly.  "One  arm,  indeed.  If  you  should  turn 
me  over  now,  you  would  see  a  hole  as  big  as 
your  whole  head,  so  they  tell  me.  A  piece  of 
shell,  yes,  and  a  marvel  it  did  not  come  clear 
through.  Most  surprising,  yes,  how  those  shells 
act."     He  puffed  at  his  cigarette. 

"And  Sergei  Herzar,  he  is  gone,  yes.  Ps-s-t!" 
— he  made  an  upward  movement  of  his  arm — 
"like  that.  And  not  so  much  as  a  button  for  a 
souvenir.  Only  this  morning  at  breakfast  he  was 
speaking  to  me  of  a  letter  to  his  wife,  and  was 
much  worried  that  she  might  not  get  it.  There 
was  a  little  estrangement  before  he  left  home, 
and  he  was  asking  forgiveness  now,  and  now 
she  will  never  know;  for  the  mail-box,  of  course, 
will  sink  with  us.  Oh,  she  will  be  sunk,  there  is 
no  doubt  of  it.  Our  captain  is  one  who  will  never 
strike  his  colors." 

47 


Tshushima  Straits 

"The  captain  is  dead,"  said  Mannix. 

"So?  Too  bad.  But  no  matter,  the  Krem- 
lins colors  they  will  not  be  struck.  But  go  on 
about  your  business.  Suffer?  Oh,  no,  no!  But 
I  am  going,  of  course.     Adieu." 

Mannix  rushed  on  to  Pushkin's  room,  which 
was  on  the  deck  below.  In  a  hundred  ways  the 
ship  was  now  showing  that  she  was  hard  hit.  She 
would  not  much  longer  remain  afloat,  and  Man- 
nix wished  to  save  a  few  little  things  which  Push- 
kin had  allowed  him  to  stow  away  in  his  desk; 
that  is,  if  he  saved  himself.  He  could  hardly 
get  through  the  ward-room,  it  was  so  cluttered 
with  wreckage.  Two  holes  gaped  in  the  star- 
board side.  Not  one  thing  had  been  left  whole. 
The  keys  of  the  German  pianola  were  scattered 
all  over  the  deck.  The  place  was  full  of  smoke, 
gas,  vapor;  a  vapor  that  made  it  difficult  and 
dangerous  to  take  in  even  the  quickest  breath. 
Mannix  rushed  through  to  his  room,  snatched 
Madeleine's  packet  of  letters  from  a  drawer, 
belted  on  a  revolver  he  saw  hanging  up,  and  came 
away. 

The  after-ladder  to  the  quarter-deck  had  be- 
come impassable.  He  had  to  go  clear  amidships 
to  find  a  ladder  to  the  deck.  There  was  a  man 
at  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  He  was  coughing 
weakly.    Mannix  stopped  to  ask  him  his  trouble. 

48 


Tshushima  Straits 

"No,  I  am  all  right  now,  but  down  there" — he 
pointed  below — "are  many,  many  suffocated,  the 
entire  powder  division — the  gas  from  their  accursed 
shells.,, 

Mannix  reached  the  quarter-deck.  There  they 
were  still  fighting  the  after-turret,  irregularly,  as  if 
not  many  of  the  crew  were  left.  Mannix  dropped 
into  the  turret.  The  Duke  was  there,  leaning 
against  the  casemate,  wounded.  Mannix  asked 
after  Pushkin.  The  Duke  pointed  to  a  body. 
"Dead?"  asked  Mannix.  The  Duke  nodded. 
They  had  not  enough  men  to  work  the  guns. 
One  gun  lacked  both  a  trainer  and  a  pointer. 
Mannix  stepped  up  to  the  gun-pointer's  telescope. 
He  had  had  no  serious  intention  of  doing  this, 
but  now  he  could  not  help  it.  He  turned  to  the 
Duke.  "With  your  permission  ?"  he  said.  "Help 
yourself,"  said  the  Duke  pleasantly. 

Mannix  almost  shouted  with  exultation  as  he 
fired.  No  strange  work  was  this  for  him.  On 
his  own  gun-ship  he  had  been  a  turret  officer. 
That  first  shot  went  to  the  mark.  And  the  next. 
And  then  he  heard  from  behind.  "She's  going 
now,  surely.  It  is  the  boilers — they  have  blown 
up!" 

"Leave — at  once — everybody!"  commanded 
the  Duke. 

There  was  still  a  shell  in  the  chamber  of  Man- 

49 


Tshushima  Straits 

nix's  gun.  "We  may  as  well  fire  this  one,"  sug- 
gested Mannix. 

"By  all  means,"  replied  the  Duke. 

Mannix,  after  looking  back  to  make  sure  the 
breech-block  was  closed,  pointed  and  fired.  He 
saw  a  great  commotion  when  it  landed.  "A 
bull's-eye !"  cried  the  one  man  who  had  stayed 
behind  to  see  the  effect.  That  man  also  stooped 
to  raise  the  Duke  in  his  arms.  Only  Mannix, 
the  Duke,  and  this  man  were  left  in  the  turret. 
The  Duke  was  helpless.  It  was  his  legs,  both 
legs.  "Ivan,  get  out — quick!"  commanded  the 
Duke. 

"Yes,  Your  Grace,  but  with  you,"  said  Ivan. 

"Come,"  urged  Mannix,  "she  is  sinking,  and 
you  must  try  to  help  yourself." 

"No,  no.  I  will  go  down  with  her.  I  should 
not  want  to  live  after  she  is  gone.  But  you  must 
go.  You  are  the  kind  that  women  love.  You 
will  win  Madeleine,  have  no  fear." 

"But  your  wife?" 

"What  of  her?" 

"You  believe  in  her  ?" 

"Ah-h,  but  what  does  she  think  of  me  ?" 

Mannix  looked  at  Ivan,  who  saluted  and  lifted 
the  Duke  through  the  under-hatch  and  onto  the 
quarter-deck.  The  ship  was  now  to  the  gun-deck 
and    lurching.     The    quarter-deck    would     soon 

50 


Tshushima  Straits 

be  under.  Mannix  wondered  what  he  could  get 
that  would  float  a  man's  body.  Over  by  the 
ward-room  hatch  he  spied  a  table,  or  what  was 
left  of  it  unburned,  floating  up  from  beneath. 
He  was  not  sure  that  he  could  pull  it  through  to 
the  deck,  but  he  tried.  A  half-burned  leg  broke 
off,  then  another,  and  then,  Ivan  rushing  over 
and  taking  hold,  it  came  through.  There  was 
also  another  table,  with  some  parts  of  the  German 
pianola  and  the  wreck  of  a  chair. 

Mannix  and  Ivan  lashed  the  two  table-tops 
together  with  strips  of  the  table-cloth.  They  had 
now  only  to  let  them  slide  down  from  the  steeply 
inclined  deck  to  the  ship's  side.  They  lifted  the 
Duke,  who  was  but  half  conscious,  and  laid  him 
across  the  table-top.  It  held  him  up  without 
trouble.  Mannix  took  hold  of  the  chair  for  him- 
self, but  seeing  a  sailor  looking  at  it  wistfully, 
he  asked,  "Can  you  swim  ?" 

"No,  Your  Excellency." 

"Then  take  it." 

"Thanks  to  Your  Excellency,"  and  plunged 
into  the  sea  with  it. 

"But   you,   Ivan,"   asked   Mannix,    "can  you 


swim 


?" 


Swim  ?  I  ?  If  I  was  rated  by  my  swimming 
and  not  by  my  brains,  I,  Your  Excellency,  would 
be  flying  an  admiral's  stars." 

5i 


Tshushima  Straits 

"Shove  off,  then!"  ordered  Mannix. 

They  were  barely  clear  of  the  ship  when  she 
started  her  death-rolling.  She  was  a  monstrous 
sight  in  that  final  roll,  with  one  bilge  keel  and  a 
propeller  up-pointing  and  the  smoke  pointing 
from  her.  And  the  flames  flashing  through  the 
smoke.  A  great  volume  of  steam  up-rushed  as 
the  burning  hull  went  under.  Mannix  looked 
about.  Only  the  Duke,  Ivan,  himself,  and  that 
other  sailor  to  whom  he  had  given  the  chair  seemed 
to  have  come  safe  away  from  the  Kremlin. 

Ill 

Mannix  now  felt  the  sting  of  a  wound  in  his 
right  side  and  another  in  the  left  thigh.  It 
seemed  to  come  to  him  dimly  that  he  had  felt 
these  before,  ages  before.  No  doubt  it  hap- 
pened at  about  the  time  the  bridge  was  demol- 
ished. Only  for  the  salt-water,  which  made  his 
wounds  smart,  probably  he  would  not  have  no- 
ticed them  now.  It  was  painful  for  him  to  work 
his  arms  and  legs,  but  yet  he  must  if  he  was  to  get 
anywhere  with  the  Russian  who,  lying  helpless 
and  heedless  across  the  table,  seemed  not  to  care 
whether  he  lived  or  died.  "But  I  care!"  thought 
Mannix.  "No  reason  in  the  world  why  I  should 
die  too.     Sorry  though  I  am  for  Russia,  still  she 

52 


Tshushima  Straits 

is  not  my  country,  and  I  have  something  else  to 
hope  for." 

With  the  palm  of  one  hand  resting  on  the  edge 
of  the  table,  Mannix  found  he  could  easily  keep 
afloat,  and  by  kicking  out  with  his  sound  leg  he 
saw  that  he  could  steer  the  little  raft  toward  sev- 
eral straying  ship's  boats.  Just  before  the  action 
began  some  of  the  ships  had  cast  away  their 
boats,  and  now  there  was  a  string  of  half  a  dozen 
— gigs,  whale-boats,  sailing  cutters — drifting  about 
to  windward  and  not  too  far  away. 

The  haze  had  gone  entirely  now  and  the  sun 
shone  clear;  a  low  sun,  for  it  was  getting  late  in 
the  afternoon.  Mannix  seized  a  chance  to  count 
the  fleet.  One  other  was  gone  besides  the  Krem- 
lin, and  two  others  looked  as  if  they  had  not  long 
to  remain  afloat.  Hopelessly  shot  through  these 
two  were,  and  through  the  holes  near  the  water- 
line  the  sea  was  pushing.  Scorched  and  blistered 
they  were,  with  here  and  there  the  steel  plates 
melted  into  horrible-looking  bunches.  All  this, 
with  huge  clouds  of  smoke  and  darting  tongues 
of  flame,  made  terrible  sights  of  them. 

As  Mannix  looked  he  saw  a  Russian  destroyer 
range  alongside  the  flag-ship.  He  guessed  they 
were  taking  off  the  body  of  the  Admiral,  the  limp 
body  was  handled  with  such  extreme  care.  There 
was  no  sea  on,  but  the  long,  oily  roll  broke  against 

53 


Tshushima  Straits 

the  body  of  the  big  battle-ship  and,  resurging, 
lifted  the  little  destroyer,  now  high  up,  and  again 
let  her  sag  away  down.  She  looked,  that  once 
imposing  battle-ship,  like  an  old  tramp  steamer 
that  had  been  lying  for  years  on  some  beach  till 
somebody  happened  to  remember  that  she  would 
make  a  good  target  for  the  fleet  at  target  practice, 
and  so  they  had  taken  her  out  and  shot  her  up. 
Mannix  marvelled  that  she  was  still  afloat. 

At  this  point  the  Duke  cried  out.  Mannix 
turned  his  head.  The  Russian  was  struggling  to 
lift  himself  to  his  elbow  to  see  the  flag-ship  more 
clearly.  "A  pity — a  brave  man,  our  Admiral," 
he  said  after  a  moment  of  observation,  and  then 
Mannix  thought  he  heard  him  sob. 

Mannix  could  count  dozens  of  small  pieces  of 
wreckage.  These,  being  on  a  level  with  his  eyes, 
loomed  up  like  little  hills  on  a  level  plain.  Float- 
ing in  the  water,  clinging  precariously  as  they 
were  to  these  bits  of  wreckage,  were  a  few  sur- 
viving sailors  of  the  fleet.  As  they  labored  and 
struggled  to  get  on,  a  destroyer  of  the  enemy 
came  tearing  by.  Her  swash  washed  several  of 
them  into  the  sea.  Most  of  the  destroyer's  crew 
seemed  to  be  on  deck,  on  their  faces  triumphant 
smiles.  One  called  out  and,  leaning  over  the  life- 
line, laughed  and  pointed,  then  threw  what  looked 
like   a   piece    of  exploded  shell  at  one  of  these 

54 


Tshushima  Straits 

swimming  sailors.  It  did  not  strike  the  swimmer, 
who,  looking  over  his  shoulder  and  seeing  whence 
it  came,  hurriedly  submerged  himself.  Evidently 
they  wanted  to  have  a  little  fun  with  him,  for  they 
ran  close  to  him,  as  if  trying  to  see  how  close  they 
could  come  without  actually  running  over  him. 
Mannix  happened  to  remember  then:  Why,  this 
was  the  Duke's  man,  Ivan.  His  revolver  lay  on 
the  table  beside  the  Duke.  He  took  it  up,  think- 
ing to  shoot  one  of  them,  but  the  destroyer  was 
steaming  perhaps  twenty-five  knots  an  hour,  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  swirl  under  her  quarter  as 
she  turned  was  the  Russian  sailor.  Mannix 
thought  he  was  gone,  but  he  was  a  tough  one, 
and  when  the  destroyer  a,nd  her  grinning  crew 
had  passed  on  he  bobbed  up. 

"Was  it  not  true,  what  I  told  Your  Excellency, 
that  I  could  swim  well  ? "  he  said  smilingly,  as  he 
came  up  hand  over  hand. 

They  reached  one  of  the  drifting  boats.  Ivan 
lifted  in  his  master,  and  then  helped  Mannix, 
after  which  there  came  a  dull  explosion.  "A 
torpedo,"  said  the  sailor  sententiously.  "Look, 
Your  Excellency — the  Bovodino."  Mannix  saw  it, 
and  the  sight  made  him  think  of  a  death-stricken 
whale.  Heavily,  slowly,  from  one  side  to  the  other, 
the  great  war-ship  rolled.  And  then,  solemnly, 
completely  over  and  forever  from  sight. 

55 


Tshushima  Straits 

Mannix  heard  the  sound  of  a  screw  behind  him. 
It  was  the  Japanese  destroyer  again.  A  voice 
hailed,  but  he  made  no  answer.  She  drew  up 
and  stopped  her  engines  not  fifty  feet  away.  An 
officer  was  sitting  on  a  camp-chair  on  the  side 
nearest  to  them.  One  elbow  rested  on  the  top 
life-line,  and  in  the  hand  of  that  arm,  between  two 
fingers,  he  held  a  cigar.  His  other  elbow  rested 
on  his  knee,  and  that  hand  supported  his  chin. 
The  very  way  he  held  the  cigar  and  stared,  it  was 
unbearably  insolent.  Not  a  word  did  he  say, 
just  stared  at  the  shipwrecked  group.  Mannix 
thought  he  smiled.  " Beast !"  said  the  Duke,  and, 
raising  himself  on  this  thwart,  returned  with  an 
even  more  insolent  expression  his  enemy's  stare. 
The  two  remained  staring  across  so,  each  with  all 
the  insolence  and  contempt  he  could  master.  Sud- 
denly the  Jap  called  out  something — short,  sharp, 
and  in  Russian.  Mannix  could  not  get  what  it 
was.  "Oh!"  cried  the  sailor.  "Oh,  to  Your 
Grace!"  and  sank  back. 

The  Jap  slowly  placed  his  cigar  between  his 
lips  and  puffed,  blew  the  smoke  toward  them,  and 
smiled.  Mannix  could  just  see  that  smile  in  the 
gloom.  "Pardon,"  said  the  Duke,  and,  taking 
Mannix's  revolver,  fired. 

The  Jap  made  as  if  to  stand  up,  and  did  half 
stand  up  for  an  instant.     Then  his  body  took  a 

56 


Tshushima  Straits 

forward  lurch,  sagged  the  life-line  half  to  the  deck, 
and  pitched  forward  and  overboard.  With  the 
splash  of  the  body  the  sailor  seized  the  Duke  and 
dropped  overboard.  "Come,  Your  Excellency," 
he  whispered  to  Mannix,  and  made  for  an  over- 
turned boat  which  Mannix  had  not  before  no- 
ticed. The  next  in  line  it  was,  with  a  plank  torn 
out  near  the  keel.  Mannix  followed  the  sailor 
and  helped  him  with  the  Duke.  "I  can  use  my 
arms  but  not  my  legs,"  whispered  the  Duke. 
"Now,  Your  Excellency,"  called  out  the  sailor, 
and  Mannix,  sinking  beneath  the  water,  followed 
the  sailor  beneath  the  gunnel  of  the  overturned 
boat. 

Between  the  surface  of  the  water  and  the  bot- 
tom of  the  overturned  boat  was  room  and  air  for 
twenty  men  to  bob  around  and  breathe  in.  They 
had  only  to  hang  onto  a  thwart  to  keep  them- 
selves afloat.  The  boat  which  they  had  just  left 
prevented  them  from  seeing  what  was  doing 
aboard  the  destroyer;  but  now  an  explosion  almost 
made  their  upturned  boat  jump  clear  of  the  water. 
Mannix  looked  through  the  hole  near  the  keel. 
The  destroyer's  people  were  shooting  at  the  boat 
they  had  just  left.  Another  shell  and  there  was 
nothing  left  of  it.  Another  shell,  possibly  to  make 
sure,  and  then  the  destroyer  steamed  back  and 
forth,  as  if  looking  to  see  if  any  had  survived. 

57 


Tshushima  Straits 

They  watched  her  steam  off  in  the  last  of  the 
daylight,  to  make  sure  she  had  gone.  That  was 
just  after  sunset  in  the  twilight,  the  sun  going 
down  in  a  burning  glow  that  night. 

"We  cannot  stay  here,"  said  Mannix. 

"No,  Your  Excellency.  In  two  minutes  I  shall 
be  back,"  and  the  sailor  disappeared.  Soon  he 
was  alongside  again  with  a  free  boat.  Between 
them,  Mannix  and  the  sailor,  they  tore  a  few  more 
planks  from  the  bottom  of  the  capsized  boat,  and 
lifted  the  Duke  through.  It  was  hard  work,  and 
when  it  was  done  all  three  again  lay  flat  on  their 
backs  and  studied  the  stars. 

It  was  the  sailor  who  moved  first.  Without 
being  ordered,  he  stepped  and  stayed  the  mast, 
shipped  the  rudder,  and  hoisted  the  two  sails. 

"A  useful  chap,  this  sailor,"  commented  Man- 
nix.    "Who  is  he?" 

"He  is  from  my  estate.  For  hundreds  of 
years  his  ancestors  were  the  serfs  of  my  ances- 
tors, but  to-day  the  serf  is  a  better  man  than  his 
master." 

"Better  than  either  of  us,"  added  Mannix. 
"And  now  we  should  get  away.  It  might  not  be 
well  for  us  to  be  found  here  in  the  morning — by 
our  friends  from  that  destroyer,  for  instance." 

"Tell  Ivan  what  you  wish.  He  is  of  iron  and 
can  go*  without  sleep  for  a  week."   • 

58 


Tshushima  Straits 

Mannix  gave  the  sailor  the  tiller,  pointed  to  a 
star  in  the  south,  and  the  cutter  began  to  slip 
through  the  darkness.  And  such  a  darkness! 
The  fires  from  the  burning  Russian  battle-ships 
only  accented    it. 

For  hours  the  Russian  sat  on  a  thwart  and 
looked  out  on  the  dark  sea  without  a  word.  At 
last  he  turned  to  Mannix.  "The  black  night  of 
Russia.  But  not  our  fault.  Nor  the  navy's  fault. 
No,  no.  Officers  and  men,  we  know  how  to  fight. 
But  when  we  have  in  power  bureaucrats,  politi- 
cians, who  love  their  country  only  for  what  they 
can  squeeze  from  that  country,  what  is  to  be  ex- 
pected ?  Such  as  he " — pointing  to  Ivan  at  the 
tiller — "you  see  how  he  fights  when  he  is  loyal. 
And  when  he  is  not  loyal,  who  is  to  blame  ?"  He 
turned  away,  and  Mannix  fancied  he  was  crying 
to  himself. 

"Shall  we  go  home,  Your  Grace?"  Mannix 
asked  at  last. 

"Ah-h!"  he  sighed,  "it  is  too  much  to  hope 
for." 

They  sailed  on,  and  all  went  well  with  them 
thereafter. 


59 


THE    CONSUMING    FLAME 


The  Consuming  Flame 

THERE  was  a  boarding-house  in  San  Fran- 
cisco— the  roof  could  be  seen  from  the  tops 
of  a  ship  in  the  stream,  and  frequented  mostly 
by  ship  captains  it  was;  a  great  place,  with  Mrs. 
Mangan  always  there  to  put  the  good  heart  into 
everybody. 

A  fine  old  lady,  Mrs.  Mangan,  and  the  prettiest 
girl,  they  say,  when  she  married  Mangan.  A 
notably  quiet  man,  Mangan,  except  for  the  twice 
a  year  or  so  when  he  exploded  in  the  grand  spree 
which  kept  his  vessel  in  port  for  an  extra  week  or 
two.  But  he  was  lost  at  sea,  leaving  a  son,  Bat, 
who  grew  up  into  one  of  the  dare-devil  skippers 
of  the  West  coast.  Not  a  port  from  Magellan  to 
Behring  Sea  that  didn't  have  a  story  of  Bat.  A 
wild  one,  but  great-hearted  too,  who  made  and 
spent  a  half-dozen  fortunes  in  his  time,  and  came 
home  one  day  with  a  beautiful  Chilian  wife — not 
so  very  long  this  before  he  was  lost.  A  foolish 
thing,  but  he  said  he  was  going  to  make  a  port 
that  night.  Gale  or  no  gale,  he  would — he'd 
come  to  moorings;  and  so  he  did — and  took  all 
hands  with  him. 

63 


The  Consuming  Flame 

He  left  a  little  baby  girl,  which  old  Mrs.  Man- 
gan  took  care  of,  for  the  Chilian  wife  did  not 
live  long  after  Bat  was  lost;  and  Chiquita,  her 
father's  baby  name  clinging,  grew  up,  and  was  so 
pretty  growing  up  that  the  boarders  went  daft 
about  her,  and  spoilt  her,  naturally,  as  such  men 
will.  Great  men  of  their  kind,  who  gave — and 
took — easily. 

Jack  Gateley  came  to  know  her  while  she  was 
still  little,  because  the  house  they  lived  in  was 
owned  by  his  father.  Later,  after  the  death  of 
Jack's  father,  who  drank  himself  straight  into  the 
grave  when  Jack's  mother  died,  old  Mrs.  Mangan 
used  to  call  him  in  to  give  him  cookies;  and,  of 
course,  any  boy  would  like  to  be  asked  in  there  to 
see  the  big  ship  captains,  and  hear  them  tell  of 
the  strange  places  they  had  been  to.  And  the 
talk  of  these  wide-sailing  ship-masters  got  into 
Jack's  blood  so  that  he  enlisted  in  the  Navy  to  see 
the  world,  and  when  he  came  back  from  his  first 
apprentice  cruise  the  beauty  of  Chick  Mangan 
burst  on  him  like  a  night  shell  on  the  target  range. 
A  flame  of  color  and  warmth  it  was;  and  not  to 
Jack  alone.  On  the  street  hardly  a  man  passed — 
and  women,  too — but  turned  to  look  again.  Per- 
haps the  women,  too,  were  not  unaware  of  him. 
It  used  to  make  Jack  quiver  just  to  sit  near 
her;  and    when    she    kissed    him,  that   trembled 

64 


The  Consuming  Flame 

even  at  the  thought  of  it,  and  of  her  own  accord 
— the  two  alone  in  her  grandmother's  parlor  the 
day  he  was  to  sail  again — it  was  like  a  torch  to 
his  soul. 

And  straight  from  that  to  the  China  station  he 
went  and  put  in  three  years  there,  regularly  get- 
ting letters  from  her;  scrawly  letters,  and  neither 
could  she  spell  the  commonest  words;  but  more 
to  make  his  heart  jump  in  a  dozen  lines  than  in 
all  the  books  of  poetry  the  ship's  library  held. 
And  he  used  to  write  her  long  letters,  too;  and 
not  a  thing  he  saw  in  the  East  but  he  would 
wonder  what  she  would  think  or  say  of  it;  not  a 
thing  he  bought  but  he  wondered  would  she  like 
it;  and  for  weeks  before  he  got  his  discharge  he 
thought  of  but  little  else  but  how  she  would  look 
and  act — would  she  kiss  him  again  ? — and  he  was 
all  of  a-tremble  coming  up  the  street  from  the 
dock,  and  arriving  at  the  door  of  the  old  boarding- 
house  he  was  gasping  like  a  man  who  had  just  run 
a  long  race. 

"She's  upstairs  somewhere,"  said  Grannie  Man- 
gan,  when  she  had  done  crying  over  Jack,  and  he 
went  up  to  find  her. 

He  could  hear  her  little  church  organ,  imag- 
ined her  as  knowing  that  his  ship  was  in  and  wait- 
ing for  him  in  the  same  old  parlor  alone,  and  so 
he  did  not  knock.     But  she  was  not  alone,  did  not 

65 


The  Consuming  Flame 

hear  the  door  turn.  It  was  a  steamer  captain 
with  her,  Prady,  who  was  said  to  make  much  more 
out  of  smuggling  silks,  opium,  Chinamen,  one 
thing  and  another,  many  times  what  his  cap- 
tain's pay  amounted  to.  Prady,  sidewise  to  the 
doors,  was  bending  over  her.  She  stopped  play- 
ing. "Chick,"  murmured  Prady,  and  kissed  her — 
and  she  let  him.  The  note  in  Prady's  voice  made 
Jack's  heart  grip  small  within  him,  and  he  backed 
out  and  drew  the  door  to,  but  now  not  without 
being  heard.  Prady's  challenging  voice  called 
out,  "Who's  there?"  and  Jack,  having  it  in  his 
mind  to  beat  up  Prady,  re-entered;  but,  seeing 
her,  he  forgot. 

"Jack — Jack — oh,  Jackie,  but  the  man  you've 
grown  to  be!" 

"Yes,  and  the  woman  you've  grown  to  be!" 

She  misunderstood,  and  such  a  smile  that,  had 
it  lasted,  Jack  could  not  have  held  out;  but,  greet- 
ing his  eyes  fairly,  she  could  not  fail  to  understand. 
Such  bewilderment,  such  shame  to  her.  "Oh, 
Jackie!" 

"'Oh,  Jackie!'"  he  mimicked  her  cruelly. 
"And  so  you've  struck  your  colors,  Chick — my 
colors,  too.  And  your  letters — were  they  noth- 
ing but  to  blind  me  ?  How  long  has  it  been  go- 
ing on  ?" 

She  shrank  away  from  him. 
66 


The  Consuming  Flame 

It  had  all  happened  so  quickly.  She  stood  up 
when  she  heard  the  door  close  behind  him.  "Oh, 
Jackie,  Jackie!  But  I  wasn't  bad!  no,  not  bad, 
Jackie — don't  think  that!"  but  he  was  gone,  run- 
ning up  the  street. 

Whatever  Prady  may  have  thought  and  done 
before,  he  thought  and  did  the  right  thing  now. 
"Look  here,  Chick,  I  see  where  that  lad  didn't 
get  things  right.  What'll  I  do  ?  Say  it — any- 
thing to  make  it  right.  Anything,  I  say — and 
that  means  anything,  not   barrin'  death." 

"Oh,  go  away — go  away." 


II 

That  night  Jack  Gateley  got  drunk  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  and  everybody  knew  it  next 
day.  Chick  sent  for  Prady  and  he  went  out  to 
find  Jack,  and,  locating  him,  came  back  to  Chick. 
"Go  back  there,"  ordered  Chick.  "I'll  follow 
you." 

Prady  went  in  and  pleaded  with  him,  as  well  as 
he  could  with  so  many  within  hearing.  But  no 
use:  the  lad  was  just  the  age.  All  the  stories  that 
ever  he  heard  from  fo'c's'le  rovers  were  sound- 
ing in  his  ears,  and  their  one  moral  borne  out. 
Women!  women!  huh!  He  himself  had  not  pa- 
trolled the  far  ports  without  knowing  something 

67 


The  Consuming  Flame 

of  that.  And  from  such  surprising  quarters!  And 
not  alone  from  those  who  had  the  name  of  it. 
What  he  did  not  appreciate  was  that  swinging 
down  the  street  in  power  and  straightness  and 
beauty,  with  his  head  and  face  and  bearing,  he 
was  a  figure  to  focus  wandering  eyes.  But  it  did 
come  at  times  from  such  surprising  quarters! 
What  might  have  happened  to  him  could  surely 
have  happened  to  others,  as  others  had  said,  and 
not  alone  from  those  who  had  the  name  of  it. 

If  the  flooding  tide  of  idealism  had  hitherto 
borne  him  in  high,  clean  waters,  so  now  its  ebbing 
had  left  him  on  murky,  wreck-marked  shores. 
And  Prady  was  the  last  man  to  influence  him 
now.  Prady!  He  recollected  now  that  on  his 
way  up  from  the  dock  the  day  before  he  had  met 
an  old  chum  who  had  said,  "Know  this  Captain 
Prady  ?  Well,  he  calls  around  there  pretty  often, 
he  does."  No  more  than  that,  but  enough  now, 
remembering  what  he  had  seen  and  what  he  had 
had  in  mind.  Since  that  day  before  he  had  been 
wondering  what  weakness  possessed  him  not  to 
beat  this  man  up.  So  now  he  flouted  Prady,  and 
Prady,  not  overtrained  to  deference,  had  to  talk 
back  to  some  extent.  Enough.  Hardly  time  for 
Prady  to  guard,  after  the  word  passed,  before 
Gateley  was  on  him.  A  powerful  man,  Prady, 
and  wily  as  a  serpent,  but  this  boy  could  have 

68 


The  Consuming  Flame 

battled  toe  to  toe  with  the  great  John  L.  himself 
and  made  him  break  ground  that  night.  He 
smothered  Prady,  hit  him  so  fast  and  often  that 
before  the  other  well  knew  he  was  fighting  at  all 
he  was  beaten.  From  the  corner  Jack  dragged 
him  across  the  room,  hove  him  through  the  swing- 
ing doors  and  out  into  the  street. 

Prady,  who  came  then  as  near  to  achieving 
heroism  as  a  man  in  his  position  might,  picked 
himself  up,  and,  bleeding  and  dishevelled,  car- 
ried the  word  to  the  waiting  Chick.  "And  you 
wouldn't  expect  me  to  hang  around  after  that, 
would  you,  Chick  ?" 

She,  who  had  caught  intermittent  glimpses  of 
it  through  the  window,  was  thinking  more  of 
Jack  than  of  Prady.  What  a  man  he  had  grown 
to  be!  "No,  Captain,"  she  said,  "I'll  wait  my- 
self now.     Good-night." 

And  she  waited.  Lurking  like  an  outcast  in 
the  shadows,  with  patrolling  policemen  and  the 
passing  throng  viewing  her  shrinking  figure  spec- 
ulatively, she  waited.  She  meant  to  speak  to  him. 
She  would  speak,  and  his  companions,  whatever 
sort  of  men  they  might  be,  could  think  what 
they  pleased.  And  he  came  out  at  last  and  she 
stepped  forth — but  she  did  not  speak.  No  man, 
but  a  woman!  Poor  Chick  shrank  back,  but  not 
before  the  woman  had  seen  her — and  laughed  at 

69 


The  Consuming  Flame 

her.  'Twas  plain  enough,  a  discarded  acquaint- 
ance of  her  handsome  sailor's.  And  not  so  bad- 
looking,  and  a  figure!  She  laughed  again,  and 
this  time  Jack  took  notice.  He  saw  a  woman's 
figure  shrink  into  the  doorway,  knew  not  what 
kind  she  was,  only  that  here  was  another  woman 
jeering  at  her.  He  stopped.  "Here,"  he  said, 
and  from  a  thick  roll  gave  her  a  large  bill.  "Good- 
night." 

The  girl  eyed  him  and  eyed  the  roll.  He  was 
good  to  look  at,  and  he  surely  carried  a  lot  of 
money  with  him.     "W-why — what's  the  matter  ?" 

"Nothing.  Don't  feel  bad  now — you're  all 
right — but  good-night." 

Chick  from  her  doorway  saw  the  parting;  and 
even  better  than  he  himself,  or  the  girl,  under- 
stood what  it  meant;  and  the  tears  came  to  her 
eyes,  and  she  not  one  who  cried  easily.  She  saw 
him  then  continue  his  way,  entering  a  street  that 
led  toward  her  home.  In  wild  hope  she  followed, 
only  to  see  him  stop  before  the  door  of  what  had 
been  once  his  home,  but  long  sold  to  Charlie  Wing. 

She  knew  of  this  Charlie  Wing,  as  who  had  not  ? 
And  suspected  more  than  she  knew.  Seldom  did 
she  go  out  but  Charlie  Wing  passed  her  before 
she  reached  home  again.  She  could  not  say  why, 
but  she  had  a  dread  of  Charlie  Wing.  With  the 
door  of  Wing's  place  closed  behind  Jack  Gateley, 

70 


The  Consuming  Flame 

Chick  ran  around  to  her  own  grandmother's, 
which  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  same  block, 
and  there  was  Captain  Lappen. 

As  wild  a  fellow,  Dan  Lappen,  as  ever  beat 
through  the  Golden  Gate;  whose  one  hope  for 
years  had  been,  but  almost  given  up  now,  to  marry 
Chick  Mangan.  In  his  mind — part  idealist  and 
part  plain  pirate — ran  a  vague  notion  of  some  day 
doing  a  deed  that  would  bring  her  to  her  knees  in 
admiration  of  him. 

It  was  Lappen  who  once  stood  on  the  steps  of 
her  grandmother's  boarding-house  after  a  success- 
ful cruise,  with  a  bundle  of  new  five-dollar  bills 
in  the  open  palm  of  his  hand,  and  blew  them  off, 
one  by  one,  and  "Lord  in  heaven!  see  'em  sail," 
kept  saying  while  the  wind  was  floating  them 
down  the  street. 

Foolish  ?  Maybe;  but  it  was  Chick  Mangan 
looking  at  him  from  behind  the  curtains,  only 
fourteen  years  old  this  time,  but  tall,  rounded, 
overpowering  in  her  beauty  even  then,  and  think- 
ing him  a  wonder  for  it.  Lappen  wouldn't  have 
mourned  a  million  five-dollar  bills  that  day,  for 
after  it  he  performed  the  most  thrilling  deed  of 
all  his  life — a  kiss  stolen  from  Chick,  a  memory 
cherished  in  secret. 

The  witchery  of  the  girl  had  never  left  this  free- 
booter of  the  sea.     "Some  day  you'll  be  marryin', 

71 


The  Consuming  Flame 

I  s'pose,  Chick?"  he  said  to  her  now  after  some 
desultory  conversation,  as  he  had  a  hundred  times 
before  in  just  that  tone,  and  she  answered  in  the 
same  old  words,  "Surely,  some  day,"  only  now 
without  the  smile  or  the  blush. 

"And  what  kind  of  a  man  i" 

"Oh-h — "  Poor  Chick  was  worn  out,  unpre- 
pared for  catechising.  "Oh-h — a  man  with  lots 
of  money,  I  suppose." 

She  had  never  said  that  before,  and  Lappen 
leaped  up.     "Then  I'll  make  the  money: 

"Oh-ho,  we'll  sail  in  the  morn 
For  the  Golden  Horn — 
Oh,  the  treasure  pirates'  bay — 
And  we'll  strike  'em  aboard 
And  we'll  crimp  their  hoard 
And  sink  'em  where  they  lay." 

He  danced  a  few  steps  in  time  to  show  how  merry 
he  felt.  "Oh,  those  were  the  days,  Chick!"  and 
a  wistfulness  almost  tremulous  in  his  voice. 

Chick  laughed;  and  it  pleased  him  to  make 
her  laugh.  "I'll  sail  in  the  mornin',  to  make  a 
fortune  for  Chick  Mangan."  Chick,  staring  ab- 
sently at  him,  thought  of  something.  All  the  men 
in  the  world  had  become  fit  for  but  one  purpose. 
"You  can  do  better  than  to  make  money,  Cap- 
tain— to  please  me  ?" 

72 


The  Consuming  Flame 

"Name  it,  Chick." 

"You  know  Jack  Gateley?" 

"Jack  Gateley's  boy,  that  died — that  used  to 
sit  around  here  by  the  hour  and  never  a  word 
but  listenin'  to  what  everybody  was  savin' — that 
little  fellow?" 

"Yes,  but  a  big  fellow  now.  And  you  know 
Charlie  Wing's?" 

Lappen  knew  Charlie  Wing's,  where  the  silk 
store  was  on  the  lower  floor  and  the  upper  floors 
given  over  to  gambling.  And  he  knew  Charlie 
Wing.  Quite  a  man  in  his  way,  this  Wing,  who 
made  a  lot  of  money  and  spent  all  he  made;  said 
to  be  one-quarter  Chinese,  but  liking  not  to  be  re- 
minded of  it.  No  cringing  Chinese  laundryman 
type,  but  of  fine  large  presence  and  large  ways;  a 
splendid  dresser,  perhaps  too  splendid  a  dresser 
— his  finger-rings  alone  must  have  stood  him  tens 
of  thousands.     But  Chick  was  speaking. 

"I  want  you  to  get  him  out  of  there.  You 
knew  his  father,  his  mother — and  the  great  kind 
they  were — he's  the  last  of  his  people.  A  pity 
if  he  went  wrong.  Get  hold  of  him,  Captain. 
For  God's  sake,  Captain,  get  him  away — away 
from  doing  wrong  till  he  comes  to  himself." 

So  Lappen,  docile  as  Prady  was,  went  and 
found  him.  Even  while  Lappen  stood  by,  Jack 
lost  a  year's  rent  of  his  father's  houses,  and  Lap- 

73 


The  Consuming  Flame 

pen,  standing  by,  also  saw  Charlie  Wing  offer 
Jack  his  whole  pile  back. 

The  young  fellow's  eyes  narrowed.     "Why  ?" 

"I  knew  your  father,"  said  Charlie. 

"A  good  many  people  knew  my  father.  Some 
he'd  better  not  known.  That  money  ?  Not  much; 
but  I'll  take  a  cigar,"  and  did,  from  off  the  side- 
board, and  lit  up  and  went  on,  "because  I  feel 
I'm  entitled  to  it,  like  any  other  customer,"  and 
snapped  the  burnt  match  across  the  room,  and 
Lappen  noticed  that  it  went  where  he  had  aimed 
it — plumb  centre  into  the  silver-mounted  cuspidor. 

"No  use  temptin'  that  lad  with  promises  o' 
money-making "  thought  Lappen.  "His  kind, 
it's  excitement  they  want — to  forget  things,"  and 
wooed  him  instead  with  hints  of  desperate  advent- 
ure, and  won  him  in  the  end.  And  at  dawn 
they  sailed  out  through  the  Golden  Gate,  with 
never  a  notion  of  when  they  were  coming  back. 

Across  the  Pacific,  the  length  and  the  breadth 
of  the  sealing  country,  from  the  Japan  coast  clear 
on  around,  they  cruised.  They  raided  rookeries 
and  they  raided  the  wide  sea.  Wherever  were 
any  seals,  season  or  no  season,  law  or  no  law, 
they  hunted  them.  They  were  not  alone  at  it, 
for  Japs  and  Russians  and  a  few  from  British 
Columbia  were  there;  but  it  was  taking  big 
chances,  for  all  four  nations—  Japan,  Russia,  Eng- 

74 


The  Consuming  Flame 

land,  and  their  own  country — had  war-ships  there 
to  see  that  the  rookeries  were  protected  and  the 
pelagic  laws  observed. 

And  the  two  men  grew  to  know  each  other,  and 
Lappen  to  like  the  other  rarely,  as  Chick  Mangan 
well  knew  he  would.  And  Lappen,  who  meant 
originally  to  make  use  of  Jack  to  further  his  own 
interest  with  Chick  Mangan,  gave  over  the  notion. 
Talking  with  the  young  fellow,  pumping  his  very 
soul  as  they  walked  the  deck  on  quiet  evenings, 
the  lad  revealed  himself,  and  Lappen  came  to 
have  a  higher  notion  of  many  things.  He  had 
broken  his  promise  to  keep  the  boy  from  wrong; 
but  he  would  bring  him  home  and  give  her  the 
money  he  had  gathered  so  that  she  could  hold 
her  head  up — no  pauper — if  ever  she  married  this 
lad.  Lord,  what  was  money  to  him  ?  And  hadn't 
he  sailed,  as  a  boy,  with  great  Bat  Mangan,  her 
father,  who'd  've  given  him  his  shirt?  Perhaps 
she  would  refuse  to  take  it,  but  at  least  she  would 
stand  off  and  say,  "Well,  Dan  Lappen,  you're 
sure  something  of  a  man!"  and  maybe  kiss  him 
on  her  wedding  day.  And  this  cruise  over,  he 
would  never  again  run  against  the  law — never. 

The  Hattie  Rymish  was  chased  a  dozen  times, 
and  forced  to  lay  in  hiding  after  each  chase  till  it 
was  safe  to  try  again.  Lappen  had,  during  this 
time,  converted  a  good  many  seal-skins  into  gold 

75 


The  Consuming  Flame 

— English,  American,  and  Russian  gold  pieces. 
"In  case  anything  happens  to  me,  I  want  you  to 
bring  that  money  home  to  Chick,"  he  would  say 
to  Jack.  Even  should  he  get  caught  or  killed  he 
made  Jack  promise  he  would  tell  her  what  chances 
he  took  to  get  it.     "She'll  like  that,"  he  said. 

"A  good  pile  there  now,"  he  said  one  day,  "but 
it  will  be  twice  that  before  the  year's  out."  And 
so  it  would  have,  long  before  that  year  was  out, 
if  he  had  not  grown  over-bold.  It  was  off  Sagha- 
lien  Island  and  a  Jap  cruiser;  not  three  months 
before  this  an  American  gun-boat  had  killed  half 
a  dozen  Japs  for  just  what  they  had  done  a  dozen 
times. 

Their  chance  now  was  to  run  in  and  tuck 
behind  the  rocks  somewhere.  Twenty  miles  or 
so  ahead  of  them  was  a  goodly  place.  A  boat  was 
lowered  over  the  side  and  the  men  told  to  row 
ashore — no  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  By 
and  by  the  vessel  would  drop  back  and  pick  them 
up. 

Lappen  and  Jack,  by  staying  aboard,  hoped  to 
save  the  vessel;  and  they  did  get  her  almost  into 
the  cove,  with  everything  ready  for  getting  away 
quickly,  but  the  cruiser  had  her  long-reaching 
rifles  and,  while  yet  four  thousand  yards  away,  she 
opened  up  on  the  schooner;  and  it  is  a  pretty  big 
shell,  a  three-inch,  to  be  tearing  up  the  water 

76 


The  Consuming  Flame 

alongside  a  little  wooden  hull.  The  Hattie  wasn't 
too  easy  to  hit,  they  having  put  her  end-to,  mak- 
ing a  narrow  enough  target  of  her;  but  in  time 
something  was  bound  to  come  aboard;  and  one 
shell  did,  taking  the  main-mast  ten  feet  above 
the  deck  and  scattering  pine  splinters  everywhere, 
big  flying  billets  that  came  nigh  to  killing  them 
both.  Close  enough  that,  and  Jack  made  ready 
the  boat  to  row  ashore  while  Lappen  ran  below 
to  get  his  bags  of  gold. 

"Oh,  we  shot  away  her  mizzen  and  we  shot  away  her 

fore, 
And  'Quarter!  quarter!*  cried  they,  as  o'er  the  rail  we 

bore. 
But  the  quarter  that  we  gave  them  was  the  bottom  of 

the  sea, 
A-sailin'  down  the  coast  of  the  High  Sag-a-lee," 

carolled  Lappen.  "And  God!  but  when  I  get 
that  back  to  'Frisco,  there'll  be  money  enough 
for  her — and  a  story  to  tell  her!" 

And  so  it  would  have,  but  that  he  had  to  pry 
open  his  state-room  door,  which  was  swollen, 
and  was  still  tugging  at  the  door  when  a  shell 
came  through  the  stern,  straight  on  through  the 
cabin,  through  the  after  bulkhead,  and  exploded 
somewhere  in  the  main-hold.  There  was  no  need 
to  tug  at  the  door  then;  it  flew  open  and  with  it 
almost  half  the  vessel's  side.     The  water  rushed 

77 


The  Consuming  Flame 

into  her  so  fast  that  in  no  time  Lappen  was  stand- 
ing to  his  knees.  But  the  closet  door  within  the 
state-room  still  stuck.  "Come  on,"  yelled  Jack 
from  deck;  "never  mind  the  money!" 

"No,  no!"  cried  Lappen;  "it's  for  Chick!" 
and  Jack  heard  the  smash  of  his  boot  driving 
through  the  splintering  wood.  Jack  was  holding 
the  bow  of  the  boat  to  the  vessel's  side,  all  ready 
for  a  quick  leap.  "Hurry,  hurry — for  God's  sake, 
hurry!"  he  cried. 

"Coming!"  Lappen  called  out,  and  then  it 
was  that  a  shell  caught  her  below  the  water-line 
and  lifted  her — her  whole  after-end.  For  perhaps 
a  second  Jack  saw  him.  He  must  have  got  to  the 
top  of  the  cabin-ladder;  in  one  last  great  effort  he 
must  have  hoisted  the  two  bags  of  gold  high  over 
his  head,  for  they  showed  clear  of  the  water,  the 
hands  and  two  wrists  under  them — no  more  than 
that — and  down  again  in  the  last  rush  of  the 
smothered  vessel. 

Jack  jumped  into  the  boat  and  drove  her  aft. 
He  did  not  have  to  go  clear  astern,  but  rowed  her 
straight  over  what  was  left  of  the  quarter-rail, 
even  then  well  under  water.  He  looked  down. 
He  could  see  nothing;  but  thinking  that  Lappen 
might  be  tangled  in  the  main-sheet,  he  dove. 
The  water  was  mussed  up  and  still  he  could  see 
nothing;    but  standing  on  her  settling  deck  and 

78 


The  Consuming  Flame 

feeling  something  under  one  foot,  he  stooped. 
It  was  one  of  the  bags  of  gold.  He  kicked  it 
away.  He  felt  around  further  till,  his  ear-drums 
and  eyeballs  ready  to  pop,  he  let  himself  shoot  to 
the  top  of  the  water.  He  waited  a  while  for 
breath,  and  then  dove  again,  but  could  find 
nothing,  and  came  up. 

Now  he  climbed  into  the  boat;  and  as  he  sat 
there,  he  thought  what  a  pity  it  all  was.  The 
trusting  primitive  man,  with  just  the  little  touch  of 
guile,  the  dare-devil  adventurer,  the  incorrigible 
law-breaker,  but  always  the  fine  seaman — above 
all,  the  good  shipmate  with  whom  he  had  come  to 
feel  akin. 

"Blast  you!  blast  you,  Chick  Mangan!"  he 
suddenly  exploded,  and  then,  the  shells  breaking 
all  around,  rowed  ashore. 


Ill 


There  was  varied  experience — the  Russo- 
Japanese  war  for  one  kind — and  four  years  had 
gone  when  Jack  Gateley,  the  adventurer,  returned 
to  San  Francisco.  He  looked  up  old  Mrs. 
Mangan  first  of  all,  and  found  her,  as  usual, 
in  the  kitchen  downstairs.  Crooning  to  herself 
she  was: 

79 


The  Consuming  Flame 

"The  cold  north  wind  was  on  the  Bay — 
O,  the  Bay,  the  green-white  Bay! 
And  o'er  the  waters  and  far  away 
His  tall  ship  did  sail  that  day. 
O,  the  green-white  stormy  Bayl 
When  my  lad's  ship  did  sail  away — 
Over  the  waters  and  far  away — 
O,  the  day,  the  day,  the  day!" 

"  Grannie  !" 

"Oo-ra-lay!"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  and  cried 
over  him.     And  Jack  almost  cried  too. 

"And  the  Roosians — or  the  Japaneses — which 
was  it? — didn't  shoot  you,  Jackie?  No?  Well, 
they  tried  hard  enough,  I'll  be  bound.  How 
many  lost  on  that  ship  you  were  on?" 

"Nine  hundred,  Grannie." 

"And  how  many  of  you  saved  ?" 

"Three." 

"Three?  Glory  be  to  ye  three!  But  oh,  the 
poor  men,  the  poor  men !  But  that's  war,  and  we 
must  take  it  like  everything  else,  no  doubt,  we 
being  what  we  are.  But  you're  lookin'  older, 
Jackie." 

"I  feel  older — a  lot  older,  Grannie.  But" — 
he  had  to  pull  himself  to  speak  of  it — "what's 
this  about  that  man  Greig  used  to  come  around 
here?" 

"Why,  he's  dead,  boy." 

"I  know,  but  what  about  him  ?" 
80 


The  Consuming  Flame 

"He  saw  Chick  one  day,  him  drivin'  by  behind 
a  pair  of  those  fast  horses  he  owned  so  many  of, 
and  hunted  the  city  high  and  low  till  he  got  some- 
body to  make  them  acquainted.  A  fine,  free- 
spending,  handsome  man,  and  lively — but  ter- 
rible jealous,  if  anybody  so  much  as  looked  at 
Chick.  He  wanted  to  marry  Chick,  and  I  don't 
know  did  she  promise  or  not.  I  know  she'd  done 
most  anything  to  get  away,  poor  dear.  'Twas 
after  you  were  reported  lost  with  Lappen  and  the 
vessel  in  Asia,  or  wherever  it  was.  She  used  to 
get  so  terribly  tired,  the  poor  child,  of  everything. 
And  then  came  a  sealer  in  to  say  that  Lappen  was 
lost  but  not  you,  and  the  pair  of  us,  Chick  and 
myself,  talked  so  much  about  you  that  I  believe 
the  man  got  jealous.  Anyway,  the  next  thing  I 
knew  he  used  to  be  coming  around  here  to  see 
Chick  and  she  wouldn't  see  him.  There  was 
something  more  than  I  knew  in  it.  He  said  to 
me,  'Grannie,  Chick's  all  right,  but  too  straight- 
speaking  for  her  own  good — people  don't  under- 
stand her.  I  know  I  don't,  and  I've  come  to  forty 
years  of  age.'  He  offered  to  leave  her  all  his  money 
if  she'd  marry  him  when  he  lay  dying — his  heart 
was  weak — just  take  his  name.  But  she  wouldn't. 
So  he  left  it  to  her  anyway,  and  it's  lyin'  in  the 
bank  yet — she  never  touchin'  one  cent  of  it. 
Oh-h" —  the  old  lady  pushed  her  arms  in  a  help- 

81 


The  Consuming  Flame 

less  gesture  from  her.  "The  poor  girl's  crazed, 
worn  to  the  thickness  of  a  straw.  Wanted  to  die, 
she  said  once.  'What  trouble's  come  into  your 
life,'  I  said,  'that  you  want  to  die — you  poor  girl 
that's  never  known  husband  or  child?'  'Maybe 
that's  it,'  she  says." 

Jack  thrummed  the  table.  "And  who's  this 
other  man,  Grannie,  they  say  she's  engaged 
to?" 

"I  don't  know  is  she.  Macron,  a  fine  sort  of 
man,  a  club  man  like.  There  used  to  be  lots  of 
talk  about  him  in  the  papers." 

"Why,  he's  most  old  enough  to  be  her  father, 
Grannie." 

"True,  boy.  But  who  knows,  perhaps  bein' 
older,  as  Greig  said,  he  understands  her — which 
every  one  don't,  maybe." 

Jack  meditated  on  Macron,  a  man  of  wealth 
and  family,  whose  adventures  in  other  days  used 
to  set  the  country  gossiping.  A  wonderful  man 
in  his  way,  but 

"We" — Mrs.  Mangan  was  running  on — "we 
didn't  hear  till  a  week  ago  about  your  bein'  saved 
from  that  terrible  battle." 

"Wasn't  it  in  the  papers  ?" 

'"Twas  in  first — two  years  ago — that  you  were 
lost,  and  your  picture.  Chick  was  glad,  and 
Macron  too." 

82 


The  Consuming  Flame 

"Macron?"  exclaimed  Jack.  And  abruptly, 
"Anybody  upstairs,  Grannie  ?" 

"There  is — Captain  Prady.  And  go  up,  Jackie, 
like  a  good  boy,  and  say  a  civil  word  to  him.  If 
you  and  him  had  some  fallin'  out,  don't  lay  that 
agin  him  now,  the  poor  man.  He's  that  forlorn 
about  Chick.  What's  there  in  the  girl,  anyway  ? 
Sure  she's  no  prettier  than  was  her  mother." 

"Or  her  grandmother — from  what  they  say," 
Jack  smiled. 

"Oh-h — no  deluderin',  though  I  was  no  fright 
in  my  day.  But  that  poor  man,  Prady,  that  gave 
up  his  steamer  for  a  shore  berth " 

"And  why?" 

"Why?  It's  not  me  can  say,  but  he's  hauntin' 
this  old  place  since  as  far  back  as  they  say  you 
and  Lappen  was  lost.  The  poor  man!  go  up  and 
say  a  civil  word  to  him,  Jackie-boy." 

So  Jack  went  upstairs  and  said,  "How  are 
you  ?"  to  Prady,  whereat  the  older  man's  face  lit 
up  immeasurably.  They  chatted  of  one  thing  and 
another;  of  everything  but  Chick. 

Suddenly,  unaccountably  to  Jack,  Prady's  eyes 
glowed.  "I  knew  she'd  be  here,  but  I  s'pose 
she's  heard." 

"Heard  what?" 

Prady  only  gazed  incredulously  at  Jack,  who 
presently  heard  the  door  open  and  close,  and  then 

83 


The  Consuming  Flame 

her  step  below  stairs  with  Grannie.  Then,  by 
and  by,  her  step  ascending  the  stairs.  She  came 
in  and  shook  hands  with  Prady.  Jack,  who  was 
in  the  far  corner,  had  also  risen  to  greet  her;  but, 
seeming  not  to  see  him,  she  had  taken  a  position 
by  the  window  which  looked  out  onto  the  garden 
of  Jack's  old  home. 

Jack  saw  how  slender  she  was  now;  the  old 
blazing  color,  too,  had  faded  to  ivory.  Without 
warning  she  turned  on  him. 

"Tell  me  about  Lappen." 

Jack  told  her  briefly,  laying  stress  only  on  Lap- 
pen's  speech  of  her  and  his  ending.  "A  brave 
man — and  died  on  your  account,  I  think." 

"On  my  account,  Jack?" 

"On  your  account,  yes." 

"On  my  account,"  she  repeated;  then  most 
irrelevantly,  to  Jack's  way  of  thinking,  "Why  did 
he  risk  bringing  you  to  disgrace,  then  ?" 

"Me  into  disgrace?  Me?  Was  I  of  a  child's 
age,  or  what  ?  He  loved  you,  dared  for  you,  died 
for  you,  and  you  say  that!  God,  but  you've 
grown  to  be  a  terrible  woman,  Chick!" 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  said  slowly.  And  again, 
"Perhaps  so,"  even  more  slowly.  And  then, 
sighing,  "Well-11 — I  don't  imagine  that  all  of  us 
understand  ourselves,"  and,  sitting  at  the  little 
organ,  strayed  from  one  piece  to  another.     Jack 

8+ 


The  Consuming  Flame 

came  out  of  a  reverie  to  find  he  was  listening  to 
the  Lamentations.  Jeremiah,  viewing  the  ruins 
of  Jerusalem,  surely  voiced  a  great  sorrow;  and 
the  mediaeval  old  monk  who  later  set  the  prophet's 
lamentation  to  music,  he,  too,  must  have  known 
what  sorrow  was. 

Jack,  sitting  there,  home  after  his  years  of  peril 
and  breathing  it  in,  felt  that  it  was  much  easier  to 
die  than  to  keep  on  living.  If  ever  he  went  to 
battle  again  he  hoped  the  ship's  band  would  play 
what  she  was  playing  now.  But  no,  no  band 
could  play  it  properly — it  would  need  to  be  a 
church  organ. 

She  ceased  playing.  A  moment  of  silence  and, 
sofdy,  "Dan  Lappen — off  Saghalien — I  hope  he's 
resting  well — and  will  forgive,"  and  looking  more 
directly  at  Jack,  "You  look  more  like  the  old 
Jackie  now.  But  not  so  awfully  sad,  Jack. 
Come  here — see."  She  was  looking  out  onto  the 
neglected  garden. 

"Do  you  remember  the  little  girl,  Jackie,  who 
used  to  look  across  from  her  window  mornings 
to  you  in  your  window,  you  a  curly-haired  boy  in 
your  night-gown,  leaning  out  to  point  out  to  the 
Chinese  servant  what  flowers  to  cut  for  your 
mommer's  breakfast-table — do  you  ?" 

There  was  a  speaking  beauty  in  her  eyes,  and 
Jack's  heart  was  thumping  terribly.     He  dared 

85 


The  Consuming  Flame 

not  speak,  but  only  for  Prady  being  there  he 
would  have  gathered  her  to  him.  Pledged  or  no 
to  Macron  or  any  other  man,  it  would  not  have 
mattered. 

"And  now  it's  a  gambling  house." 

Abruptly  an  exclamation,  almost  like  a  cry 
wrung  out  of  her,  and  she  was  off.  The  door 
closed  below.  Prady  stepped  into  the  other,  the 
front  room. 

He  returned  soon.  "She's  gone — around  the 
corner  to  Charlie  Wing's — to  the  silk  store.  But 
there's  a  ladies'  game  there — such  ladies!"  He 
stepped  over  and  looked  gloomily  out  of  the  rear 
window.  "That  Charlie  Wing,  for  all  his  polish 
and  easy  ways,"  he  went  on,  "he's  a  desperate 
man.  He  is  not  used  to  having  anybody  cross 
him." 

"No  ?     But  what's  he  got  to  do  with  her  ?" 

Prady  showed  that  he  heard,  but  no  answer  came 
from  him.  Thirsting  to  hear  of  her  smallest  do- 
ings, Jack  forced  another  question:  "Does  she 
go  there  often  ? " 

"Twice  before — this  week.  A  silk  store — but 
she  never  brings  home  any  silk.  You  know,"  he 
went  on  hastily,  "she  may  not  be  playing  there, 
though  if  she  did  could  you  blame  her?  That 
Macron,  I  s'pose  he  bores  her  most  to  death — 
everything  bores  her  these  days,  she  that  used  to 

86 


The  Consuming  Flame 

get  so  much  fun  out  of  the  littlest  thing."  He 
looked  up  at  the  ceiling  as  if  bored  to  death  him- 
self, and  then  all  at  once  exploded  with:  "A  won- 
der you  wouldn't  tell  her  to  cut  it  out!" 

"Me?"  Jack  wondered  what  had  come  over 
the  man.     "Me?" 

"Yes,  you."  And  after  a  while:  "This  Charlie 
Wing  shot  two  men  in  Lima  once — used  to  run 
a  place  in  the  Chinese  quarter  there.  'Twas  me 
smuggled  him  aboard  my  steamer  and  brought 
him  here — paid  me  five  thousand  dollars  for  it." 
He  paused.  "I  wish  now  I  hadn't.  But  I  think 
Til  take  a  walk  down  the  street.    So  long." 

Out  in  the  hall  he  stopped  to  look  into  the  case 
where  so  many  of  Chick's  old  presents  were  hung 
up,  those  given  her  by  the  ship  captains  in  the  old 
days:  shells,  beads,  bows  and  arrows,  knives,  guns, 
and  so  on — a  regular  little  museum.  Jack  could 
hear  the  glass  doors  sliding,  but  paid  no  attention 
to  that.    Soon  the  street  door  closed  behind  him. 

Jack  stepped  over  to  the  rear  window  and  looked 
out  on  that  back  area,  and  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  she  had  been  doing  so  a  while  ago.  There 
was  the  yard  to  Charlie  Wing's  place.  It  had  once 
been  a  fine  garden,  and  a  grand  old  mansion  too, 
his  father's,  and  he  had  lived  there  for  a  long 
time. — had  been  born  there.  A  thousand  times  he 
had  played  in  that  very  garden,  and  so  had  she; 

87 


The  Consuming  Flame 

and  then  he  got  to  brooding  over  it,  and  over  her 
life,  and  over  what  Prady  had  said  of  this  Charlie 
Wing. 

In  the  middle  of  his  thoughts  it  came  to  him  in 
a  flash.  He  had  not  believed  that  he  could  ever 
again  feel  toward  her  as  in  the  old  days,  but  that 
afternoon  her  personality  had  taken  hold  of  him 
again;  and  now  he  grew  cold  to  think  of  her  being 
in  Charlie  Wing's  place.  In  older  days  he  would 
have  acted  on  the  impulse,  but  of  late  he  had  got 
into  the  way  of  thinking  things  out.  So  he  was 
brooding  over  it  all — Charlie  Wing,  Prady,  Greig, 
Macron — wherein  did  it  concern  him  ? 

The  report  of  a  pistol-shot  brought  him  jumping 
out  of  it.  A  dull  sound  it  was,  but  he  knew  it  for 
a  big-bored  revolver  shot.  He  picked  out  an  open 
window,  a  lace  curtain  across  it.  It  must  have 
come  from  there.  No  longer  puzzling  reflection, 
but  down  the  backstairs  in  two  strides — across 
Grannie's  backyard  in  three  more.  The  door  to 
Charlie  Wing's  he  found  bolted  on  the  inside,  but 
the  wall  was  easily  scaled.  He  had  not  forgotten 
the  lay-out  of  his  own  old  home — straight  up  the 
backstairs  he  rushed  and  straight  for  that  back- 
room— he  knew  that  room,  too,  of  the  open  win- 
dow. 

Another  shot,  and  almost  at  the  same  instant 
the  door  swung  open  before  him.     It  was  Charlie 

88 


The  Consuming  Flame 

Wing  backing  out.  The  revolver  was  still  in  his 
hand.  Jack  looked  beyond  Charlie  and  there  he 
saw  Chick,  her  head  resting  on  a  table  as  if  she 
were  weary — frightened  he  would  say,  if  it  were 
any  other  girl.  On  the  floor  was  Prady,  his  legs 
stretched  out  before  him  and  his  back  resting 
against  the  wall.  Blood  was  on  his  white  shirt 
front  and  a  knife  in  his  hand.  Like  coming 
death  he  looked.  Charlie  said  something  in 
Chinese  and  turned.  A  quick  man,  but  not  quite 
quick  enough.  Jack  caught  his  lifted  wrist,  and 
the  bullet  went  on  by  him — somewhere.  He 
wrenched  the  wrist — he  could  feel  the  bones  crack- 
ing under  his  grip  and  see  Wing  grow  clear  white 
with  the  agony.  Before  the  weapon  had  hit  the 
floor  he  had  him  by  the  throat,  but  Wing  did  not 
die  by  his  hand.  Over  Wing's  shoulder  he  saw 
Chick  lift  her  head  and  he  saw  that  she  knew  him. 
And  he  had  no  more  time  for  Wing.  He  heaved 
him  off  and  back  on  the  floor  he  fell  to  Prady,  who 
Jack  had  thought  was  all  gone,  but  who  now 
reached  over  and  drove  his  knife  deep  into  Wing's 
neck.  The  knife  Jack  knew  for  one  from  Chick's 
case,  one  of  those  ivory-handled  knives  from  the 
East  that  Prady  himself  had  brought  home  to 
her  years  before.  And  Jack  had  seen  the  mata- 
dors in  Lima  kill  their  bulls  with  just  that  same 
stroke — behind  the  shoulders  and  down  through 

89 


The  Consuming  Flame 

the  heart.  And  so,  no  doubt,  had  Prady;  and  pos- 
sibly, also,  had  Charlie  Wing. 

He  took  her  up.  Once  she  would  have  been 
quite  a  weight;  but  not  now — the  consuming  fire 
had  worn  her.  He  could  feel  her  lips  to  his  ear. 
"Oh-h — but  I'm  so  glad  it's  you  that  came  to 
take  me  away." 

Turning  to  the  door,  he  said  to  Prady:  "If 
anybody  comes,  let  it  be  Charlie  and  you  and  me 
alone." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Prady — "just  you  and  me 
and  Charlie.  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  was  bad  ?  He 
said  something  to  Chick — I  couldn't  get  the  words, 
but  Chick  slapped  his  face.  I  heard  the  slap,  and 
her  voice  like  she  was  ready  to  cry;  but  not  for 
fear,  not  Chick.  'Why,  you  yellow  beast!'  she 
said.  'Do  you  think  because — '  and  then  I,  lis- 
tening at  the  curtain,  jumped  in.  But  he  had  the 
gun  all  the  time,  he  was  that  crazy  about  her — you 
didn't  know  that;  I  did — for  years.  He  didn't  give 
me  a  chance — seemed  like  he  thought  I  was  her 
man.  If  that  wasn't  a  joke!"  Prady  laughed 
terribly.  "  I  struck  at  him,  but  he  was  too  quick — 
too  quick.  ...  So  it  '11  be  as  you  say,  Gateley,  no 
word  of  her  .  .  .  and  I'll  lie  like  a  Chinaman — 
just  me — and — and  him — and  he's  gone — and  I'm 
go-ing.  .  .  ." 


90 


The  Consuming  Flame 
IV 

Jack  carried  her  out  through  the  old  garden  and 
into  the  boarding-house,  meeting  nobody  on  the 
way,  to  the  same  old  sofa  in  the  same  old  parlor. 
She  was  looking  up  at  him  as  he  laid  her  down. 
"I'm  glad  it's  you,  Jackie-dear,"  she  said,  and 
reached,  weakly  enough,  for  his  hand.  "I  hurried 
back  here  to-day  just  hoping  to  catch  you — I  heard 
you  were  home  again.  I  told  Macron.  He  knows 
all  about  you  and  me,  Jackie.  Before  ever  I 
knew  him  long  I  told  him.  You  said  something 
about  showing  my  colors  once,  Jackie,  and  I  told 
him  early.    See  here,  dear." 

She  had  been  shot  through  the  right  breast, 
and  the  blood  from  the  wound  was  spreading  over 
her  waist — a  navy-blue  serge,  the  color  he  liked 
so.  Her  throat  seemed  to  be  swelling  and  he 
opened  her  collar.  No  baby's  throat  was  whiter 
or  smoother.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  waist  and 
he  unfastened  it.  She  took  his  other  hand  while 
he  was  doing  that  and  pressed  it  to  her  breast,  then 
led  it  to  a  cord  which,  when  he  drew  it  out,  he  saw 
had  fastened  to  it  a  medal.  "See — your  colors, 
Jackie."  His  own  medal  of  honor  it  was.  He 
had  won  it  while  an  apprentice  boy  and  had 
given  it  to  her  on  his  return  home.    He  thought 

9« 


The  Consuming  Flame 

she  had  long  ago  lost  it  or  thrown  it  away,  or 
at  least,  in  her  heedless  way,  had  given  it  to 
somebody. 

"Macron  never  minded,  Jack.  That  is  half 
why  I  liked  him,  I  think.  No,  Macron  never 
minded.  But  Greig!  I  used  to  wear  it  inside; 
but  this  day  I  had  it  outside — under  my  coat — and 
he  saw  it.  He  guessed  what  it  was  and  asked  me, 
and  I  said  yes.  'Then  take  it  off  and  leave  it 
off/  he  said  to  me.  '  I'll  not  take  it  off  or  leave 
it  off,'  I  said.  'Take  it  off,'  he  said,  'or  I'll  go — 
and  for  good/  And  I  said  'Go!'"  She  looked 
at  him  then,  a  little  proudly  and  yet  timidly,  as  if 
he  might  not  like  her  speaking  of  it.  "He  came 
back,  but  I  never  could  like  him  again.  Did  I 
do  right,  Jackie  ?"  The  humility  of  her  left  him 
in  speechless  shame.  He  could  have  died  at  that 
moment,  merely  to  reassure  her. 

"And  there's  a  key — here."  Jack  drew  it  out. 
"Ask  Grannie  and  she'll  show  you  the  box — it's 
got  everything  you  ever  sent  me,  every  letter,  every 
ebony  elephant,  every  ivory  pagoda,  every  souve- 
nir spoon — every  little  thing  and  everything  I 
ever  saw  in  the  papers  about  you — nothing  else 
but  you  in  it.  And  nobody's  ever  seen  the  inside 
of  it  but  myself.  There  you'll  find  the  letters — 
wrote  but  never  sent — I  want  you  to  read  them 
now.     Read   them  .  .  .  and  you'll   know   I   did 

92 


The  Consuming  Flame 

love  you,  dear."  She  choked  a  little  then,  and 
he  bent  over  to  raise  her  up.  "Sweetheart,"  she 
whispered — "nearer."  To  the  impelling  love  and 
the  beauty  in  her  eyes  he  bent  .  .  .  still  lower 
.  .  .  and  they  kissed  .  .  . 

"  It's  the  truest  kiss  I  ever  gave,  Jackie.  If  it's 
a  sin,  then  God  help  me!"  Out  of  her  weakness 
she  rested  a  while,  looking  at  him — saying  no 
word  but  looking.  ...  "I  never  meant  harm  to 
nobody,  Jackie — to  nobody — never,  never!  All 
I  ever  did  I  just  couldn't  help.  Before  I  knew  it 
was  wrong,  those  captains  used  to  pick  me  up 
and  kiss  me — and  say  things  to  me — like  Prady. 
Poor  Prady!  I  could  burn  for  it  now,  but  you 
must  not  think  me  better  than  I  was — and  I  did. 
But  I  wasn't  a  bad  girl — no  more  than  that.  I 
couldn't  seem  to  help  that,  and  surely  they  who 
used  to  know  my  father  could  mean  no  harm  to 
me.  But  never  after  that  day  .  .  .  that  terrible 
day  you  left  me.  I  never  felt  the  same  after 
that  day.  When  you  left  me  that  day  the 
blood  left  my  heart.  I  used  to  cry  the  long 
nights  through.  And  I  hated  the  name  of  who- 
ever might  try  to  lead  you  astray.  You  won- 
dered about  Lappen — him,  too,  he  promised  me 
different." 

She  remained  quiet  for  some  little  time.  Her 
strength  had  been  going  from  her.     Jack  feared 

93 


The  Consuming  Flame 

she  would  speak  no  more,  but  she  looked  up  to 
say,  "And  even  to-day,  Jackie,  I  got  to  thinking 
of  when  I  was  a  little  girl  and  you  still  a  little  boy, 
and  I  asked  Charlie  Wing  to  let  me  go  to  that 
room.  It  was  upstairs  in  the  gambling  part,  I 
know.  But  I  went.  And  I  raised  the  window  to 
look  out  into  the  garden  as  you  used  to,  but  I 
saw  you  standing  at  the  window  there,  and  I  drew 
back  so  you  would  not  see  me,  and  just  then 
Charlie  Wing  came  in  and  I  drew  farther  back  into 
the  room  so  he  wouldn't  look  out  and  see  you. 
Something  told  me  he  did  not  like  you.  And  there 
we  were  alone — and  he  misunderstood.  Maybe  I 
shouldn't  have  blamed  him,  for  what  could  he 
guess  of  the  heart  of  a  girl,  how  after  all  the  years 
the  memory  of  even  the  little  things  will  still  cling. 
Maybe,  too,  good  women  don't  go  to  the  gambling 
part.  And  when  he  shot  I  didn't  mind  it  much, 
only  till  you  came  in.  *  He'll  blame  me  again,'  I 
thought;  but  when  you  looked  at  me  as  you  did 
I  could  have  died  with  joy.  I  wasn't  afraid  for 
you.  I  knew  you  would  crush  him  if  you  wanted 
to.  Remember  the  night  you  fought  Prady  ? 
Every  blow  you  struck  that  night  I  struck  with 
you,  and  every  blow  he  struck  you,  struck  me. 
Poor  Prady!  Well,  God  forgive  me  if  I'm  to 
blame.  .  .  .  Sometimes  I  think  my  mother  died 
too  soon.  .  .  . 

94 


The  Consuming  Flame 

"And  about  Grannie,  sweetheart.  Be  good  to 
her,  won't  you  ?  I  know  you  will;  but  be  double 
good  to  her  for  me.  Oh,  the  nights  she's  laid 
awake  while  I  cried  myself  to  sleep,  and  she  not 
knowing  why.     Be  good  to  Grannie.  ..." 

The  blood  was  coming  in  little  bubbles  from 
her  lips.  Jack,  wiping  them  away,  tried  not  to 
let  her  know  it.  But  she  knew.  "I  think  I  ought 
to  pray  a  little,  Jackie,  don't  you  ?  Won't  you 
pray  with  me — and  for  me,  sweetheart  ? — and  for 
Captain  Prady — and  Captain  Lappen — they  were 
both  brave  men,  weren't  they,  dear  ?" 

So  she  began  and  he  repeated:  "Our  Father 
Who  art  in  Heaven,  hallowed  be  thy  name.  .  .  . 
And  now — yes,  and  for  Charlie  Wing  too,  for  how 
could  he  guess  ?  .  .  .  Wait,  wait,  sweetheart — the 
baby  prayer  too.  Hail  Holy  Queen,  Mother  of 
Mercy,  our  life,  our  sweetness,  and  our  hope.  To 
thee  do  we  cry,  poor  banished  children  of  Eve,  to 
thee  do  we  send  up  our  sighs,  mourning  and  weep- 
ing in  this  valley  of  tears.  Turn  then,  Most  Gra- 
cious Advocate,  thine  eyes  of  mercy  toward  us,  and 
after  this  our  exile  .  .  .  What's  next,  dear  ?  Yes 
— oh  yes  .  .  .  That  we  may  be  made  worthy  of 
the  promises  of  Christ  .  .  .  pray  for  us  sinners 
now — and — yes,  now  and  at  the  hour  of — of  our 
death-t-th —    What  comes  after  death,  Jackie?" 

"Amen,  sweetheart." 

95 


The  Consuming  Flame 

"...  Ah-h,  yes,  A-men" — her  fingers  closing 
tightly  over  his.  "Ah-h — ah-h" —  the  least  little 
bit  of  a  sigh.  .  .  . 

He  buried  his  medal  of  honor  with  her.  .  .  . 
He  thought  she  would  like  it  so.  .  .  . 


The  great  battle  fleet  was  about  to  sail  from 
Hampton  Roads.  And  Gateley  came  down  to 
enlist.  One  thing  sure,  truth  or  no  in  the  flying 
rumors — feast,  fight,  or  frolic,  whichever  it  would 
prove,  here  plainly  was  one  of  those  who  "hoped 
for  the  best." 

Nothing  happened  to  the  fleet,  but  one  day 
came  target  practice.  Headed  for  the  battle  range 
was  Gateley's  ship  with  her  men  to  battle  stations. 
Down  the  line  she  was  steaming,  fourteen  knots 
her  speed,  with  all  her  port  broadside  and  turret 
guns  booming. 

At  their  stations,  stripped  to  their  racing  jerseys, 
eyes  glowing,  chests  heaving,  lips  curving,  but 
nerves  under  control,  were  the  turret  crew.  So 
would  they  strip  and  look  in  battle,  and  no  more 
eager  to  win  in  real  battle  than  now.  Round 
about  were  bags  of  powder  piled  up.  Hardly 
prudent?  No;  but  prudent  people  never  make 
or  save   nations.    The   God   of  War   there  was 

96 


The  Consuming  Flame 

the  turret  captain,  Gateley — wide-shouldered,  lean- 
waisted  as  a  race-horse — astraddle  of  the  entering 
hatch.  Through  his  tight-fitting  jersey  his  torso 
swelled;  and  his  big  arms,  too,  were  bulging  with 
restrained  power. 

Two  miles  she  had  gone,  and  nine  thousand 
yards  away  a  badly  shot  up  target  fluttered  in 
the  warm  sea-air.  Slugging  down  the  battle  line 
came  the  great  ship  again.  It  looked  like  a  new 
world's  record.  From  aloft  they  could  see  far  out 
another  solid  rectangle  of  painted  canvas  being 
cut  to  flying  ribbons.  The  time  was  almost  up, 
the  light  of  anticipation  gleaming  in  their  eyes — 
particularly  the  twelve-inch  records  would  be 
badly  broken.  Boom,  flame,  and  smoke  it  was 
along  the  whole  ship's  side,  when  pfF!  almost  an 
explosion  it  was,  and  flame  and  smoke  not  reck- 
oned with  from  beneath  the  after-turret  entering 
hatch. 

How  that  bag  of  powder  was  tossed  out  without 
an  explosion  nobody  knew  or  could  explain.  The 
rules  forbade  speech  till  time  was  up,  and  another 
shot  remained  to  be  fired.  And  that  was  fired. 
"Something  burning  in  the  right  hoist,"  said 
somebody  then,  and  the  turret  captain  dropped, 
almost  threw  himself,  down  through  the  four 
decks  of  the  other  ammunition  hoist  to  the  hand- 
ling-room. 

97 


The  Consuming  Flame 

Above  him  in  one  hoist  the  flames  were  roaring. 
Sparks  of  burning  cloth  began  to  fall  on  the  steel 
deck  of  the  handling-room,  and  there  were  bags 
of  powder  not  yet  stowed.  "Don't  touch  that — 
nor  don't  wait  for  that — close  your  magazine 
doors!"  he  called,  and  they  saw  him  jump  for  the 
sizzling  little  spark  as  they  pulled-to  the  maga- 
zine doors,  themselves  inside. 

Almost  with  the  cushioned  shock  of  the  closing 
doors  came  the  flash  and  a  great  pf-f-fF! — he  had 
all  but  tossed  the  eighty-pound  charge  into  the 
passageway  when  it  had  gone  off.  Two  men  came 
running  in  just  in  time  to  see  him  standing  there 
with  his  arms  crossed  before  his  face.  They  saw 
him,  too,  smooth  his  eyelids  with  the  tips  of  his 
fingers.  "It  must  be  terrible  to  be  blind,"  he 
said.     His  jersey  was  burnt  off  his  body. 

The   miracle   of  his   escape   overcame    them. 
"You  still  alive,  Gate?" 

"I  guess  so." 

"It's  sure  your  lucky  day." 

"Right  again,  son — my  lucky  day,"  and  went 
up  on  deck.  The  surgeon  wished  to  have  him 
brought  below  to  the  hospital,  but  Gateley  begged 
off*.  "If  you  don't  mind,  sir,  I'll  stay  up  here," 
he  said.  So  they  allowed  him  to  stay  on  deck, 
where  he  walked  the  quarter,  from  his  turret  to 
the  ship's  side,  with  never  a  word  to  anybody  and 

98 


The  Consuming  Flame 

nobody  a  word  to  him.  Shipmates  came  up  to  him, 
with  a  mind  to  say  something;  but,  meeting  him 
face  to  face,  they  turned  away  without  saying  it. 

And  so  he  walked  the  deck — one  hour,  two  hours, 
three  hours,  all  that  afternoon — turning  sometimes 
to  look  out  over  the  sea,  at  the  sky,  across  to  the 
other  ships  of  the  fleet;  but  no  sign  of  what 
might  be  going  on  within,  only  when  he  would 
lift  his  head  to  gulp  down  the  cool  air.  This  ter- 
rible self-repression  was  too  much  for  some  of  his 
shipmates — they  went  away  to  cry.  But  never  a 
sign  of  weakness  in  him  till  suddenly  he  turned 
and  looked  up  to  the  flag. 

"Good-by,  old  ship — good  ship,  too."  His 
voice  was  low.  "Good-by,  old  Navy.  I  only 
wish  'twas  on  the  real  battle  line,"  and  saluted 
then  the  flag.  Turning,  he  found  a  ring  of  his 
shipmates  enclosing  him.  "Good-by,  fellows," 
and — this  in  a  voice  low  but  clear  as  the  ship's 
own  bell — "Coming!"  he  called  out,  and  fell  full- 
length  backward  on  the  deck. 

The  surgeon  knelt  above  his  body.  "Though 
hardly  any  need,"  he  observed.  "He  was  fated 
from  the  first.  He  inhaled  the  flame,  and  it  burnt 
him  out  inside." 


99 


GREE  GREE  BUSH 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

OUEER  how  a  man  knocking  around  the 
world  gets  here  a  hint,  there  a  hint,  of 
a  thing  that  has  been  puzzling  him  for  years, 
and  at  last,  all  of  a  sudden  usually,  finds  he  has 
all  the  missing  threads  straight  and  untangled  in 
his  palm.  I  have  in  mind  the  case  of  Bowles. 
Bowles  wasn't  his  right  name  at  all,  but  we'll  call 
him  that,  for  it  was  under  that  name  he  enlisted 
in  the  navy,  where  they  still  speak  of  him  as  the 
"Gree  Gree  Man."  But  that  enlistment  occurred 
later. 

Bowles  came  of  a  family  up  our  way  that,  well, 
the  newspaper  men — I  had  a  brother  a  newspaper 
man — used  often  to  sit  down  and  wonder  if  the 
Bowleses  really  did  believe  themselves  so  much 
better  than  ordinary  people,  or  were  they  just  try- 
ing to  fool  themselves,  too.  There  is  probably  not 
much  going  on  in  a  city  that  a  dozen  good  police 
reporters  don't  pretty  near  get  to  the  bottom  of — 
if  they're  really  interested.  Bowles's  people  were 
great  hypocrites  and  Bowles,  being  brought  up  to 
believe  that  he  was  better  stuff  than  other  fellows, 
naturally  broke  when  the  strain  came. 

103 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

Before  he  was  out  of  college  he  had  done  a 
dozen  things  that  another  boy  would  have  been 
put  away  for.  But  one  day  he  just  had  to  jump 
out,  and  in  a  hurry;  and  cut  off  from  leaving  the 
city  by  train  or  steamer,  he  sailed  on  a  bark  that 
was  bound  for  the  West  Coast  of  Africa,  on  one  of 
a  line  of  old  hookers  that  used  to  sail  more  or  less 
regularly  for  the  West  Coast,  going  out  with  a 
small  holdful — rum,  striped  calico,  brass  wire, 
and  so  on,  missionaries  sometimes — and  coming 
back  with  a  big  holdful  of  ivory,  palm-oil,  pepper, 
and  things  like  that.  A  nice,  quiet  business  that 
used  to  pay  about  a  thousand  per  cent  one  time. 
Perhaps  it  does  yet.  And  it  was  a  great  relief  to 
all  the  Bowleses  when  young  Bowles  got  away 
without  getting  caught,  and  they  didn't  care  how 
long  he  stayed  away. 

What  I  am  about  to  say  now  of  Bowles's  doings 
on  the  West  Coast  is  the  summing  up  of  what  I 
learned  at  different  times  from  a  dozen  people — a 
couple  of  ship  captains,  a  bosun's  mate  in  the 
navy,  a  dozen  sailormen,  stokers,  and  so  on,  who 
happened  to  be  on  the  West  Coast  when  Bowles 
was  there.  Out  there  Bowles  fell  in  with  old 
Chief  Thomson,  who  used  to  run  things  pretty 
much  to  suit  himself  over  a  country  larger  than 
many  a  European  nation  controlled. 

Thomson  was  a  name  the  white  traders  gave 
104 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

him.  It  may  have  been  that  Bowles — though  Kipp 
was  the  name  he  took  out  there — possibly  Bowles, 
coming  of  a  hard-fibred  trading  ancestry,  showed 
the  old  fellow  a  few  new  commercial  tricks.  He 
must  have  been  of  some  material  use,  for  old  chief 
was  too  shrewd  and  Bowles  too  cold-blooded  for 
anybody  to  suspect  it  was  a  matter  of  sentiment. 
So  fat  and  wide  that  he  had  to  swing  his  legs  side- 
ways like  a  duck  when  he  walked — that  was  old 
chief  but  respected  by  all  the  white  people,  even 
though  he  was  as  complete  an  old  villain  as  ever 
lived  in  some  ways,  for  he  had  force,  and  he  was  a 
man  who  meant  well  by  his  own  people;  that  is, 
after  he'd  had  his  fill  of  eating,  drinking,  and  gen- 
eral pleasuring. 

Old  chief  was  at  the  head  of  half  a  dozen 
secret  societies — at  least  half  a  dozen.  Africa  is 
rotten  with  secret  societies,  worse  than  any  white 
country.  Among  white  peoples,  of  course,  those 
who  want  political  office  or  a  good  grocery  trade 
— that  kind  are  the  great  "joiners";  but  down 
there  it  was  the  ceremonies  that  attracted  them 
as  much  as  anything.  In  places  there  they  still 
practise  some  of  the  things  they  used  to  do  ages 
ago.  It  is  hard  to  make  people  believe  this,  al- 
though in  our  own  country  the  negroes  still  prac- 
tise voodooism,  and  in  Jamaica  and  Hayti  they 
still    practise   Obeaism.      One   society,    however, 

105 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

old  Chief  Thomson  made  little  secret  of — Africa 
for  the  Africans  was  what  it  meant. 

And  by  an  African  he  meant  a  black,  and  by 
a  black,  anybody  with  one  drop  of  black  blood. 
"One  drop  of  negro  blood  always  a  negro,"  he 
used  to  say,  or  as  near  to  it  as  he  could  in  English. 
"The  white  people  made  that  law — let  it  stand." 

There  are  plenty  like  Thomson  who  want 
their  people  to  rule  everybody  in  Africa — blacks, 
whites,  and  yellows.  Why  not,  he  used  to  say, 
when  Japan  was  planning  to  do  the  same  thing 
in  Asia,  and  the  whites  had  been  doing  it  in 
Europe  and  America.  Old  Chief  Thomson  carried 
his  hope  of  this  last  society  so  far  that  he  had  had 
his  eldest  son  educated  in  England,  so  that  he 
might  be  better  fitted  to  carry  on  the  great  work 
for  the  race. 

There  was  a  sort  of  branch  of  the  society  that 
old  chief  would  not  talk  so  freely  about;  but  the 
scheme,  so  'twas  said',  was  to  take  boys  and  girls, 
especially  girls,  when  they  were  young,  and  train 
them,  so  that  by  and  by  they  would  be  able  to 
train  the  coming  race,  to  lead  them  to  better 
things.  The  girls  brought  up  like  that  used  to  be 
hid  in  the  jungle,  where  if  any  man  was  found,  he 
was  put  to  death.  Of  this  society  old  chief  was 
believed  to  be  Zoah,  which  meant  Grand  Knight, 
Grand  Master,  Exalted  Ruler,  Great  Mogul,  what- 

106 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

ever  anybody  wants  to  call  it,  and  clear  on  up  to 
the  133d  degree. 

Of  course,  though  talky  negroes  sometimes 
gave  out  hints,  all  this  was  mostly  guesswork 
with  the  whites.  There  never  was  one  who  really 
knew  anything  about  them — unless  it  was  this 
same  Bowles.  And  that  was  one  thing  they  all  had 
against  Bowles — he  was  making  up  with  the  blacks 
against  his  own;  and  later,  when  he  got  tangled  up 
and  they  got  after  him,  in  the  Berg  mystery,  it  was 
as  much  because  of  his  being  on  the  side  of  the 
natives  as  for  the  belief  that  he  had  a  hand  in 
Berg's  death.  This  Berg  was  a  steamer  captain 
running  up  and  down  the  West  Coast,  an  Ameri- 
can, a  fine  sort  according  to  the  rating  of  his  kind, 
and  he  had  married,  many  years  before  this,  a 
girl  who,  it  was  whispered,  had  negro  blood  in  her. 
Traders'  lies! 

However,  this  day  he  went  up  the  river  to  meet 
old  chief,  taking  his  daughter  with  him.  The 
mother  being  dead,  she  lived  on  the  steamer  with 
her  father.  Captain  Berg  intended  only  to  run 
up  to  the  lagoon  and  back;  but  he  was  a  great 
gambler  and  he  wound  up  by  joining  in  a  little 
game  with  Bowles  and  young  Chief  Thomson, 
who  was  now  back  from  England.  The  game 
stretched  out,  ran  into  the  evening — how  late  no 
real   matter,   though   Captain   Berg  left  at  nine 

107 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

o'clock,  according  to  young  Chief  Thomson  and 
Bowles.  Next  morning,  Captain  Berg's  body  was 
found  by  his  crew  floating  in  the  lagoon.  It  was 
known  he  could  not  swim,  and  as  Thomson  and 
Bowles  said  he  had  been  drinking  during  the  game, 
it  was  not  hard  to  believe  that  he  had  fallen  into 
the  lagoon  while  looking  for  his  landing. 

But  his  daughter  ?  She  had  gone  with  her 
father,  Bowles  and  young  chief  said,  and  of  course 
she  must  have  drowned  with  him.  Well,  they 
waited  for  her  body  to  come  up.  But  it  didn't 
come,  whereupon  people  began  to  talk.  They 
could  not  reach  young  chief,  old  chief  had  too 
much  power  for  that,  but  Bowles  had  to  get  out. 
Old  chief  and  young  chief  together  could  not  save 
him.  If  he  had  not  gone,  some  of  Captain  Berg's 
crew — he  had  two  or  three  desperate  ones  among 
them — would  surely  have  killed  him.  So  he  hur- 
ried away,  this  time  to  Manila,  where  he  enlisted 
in  the  navy. 

And  here  is  what  I  started  to  say  in  the  begin- 
ning: it  is  odd  how  we  get  onto  a  man's  trail  and 
lose  it,  then  pick  it  up  again,  and  at  last  see  him 
run  down.  Our  ship  was  lying  into  Rio  Janeiro. 
The  bosun  was  overseeing  the  unshipping  of  the 
ship's  wash  line.  His  great  friend,  Mr.  Glavin, 
and  myself  were  watching  him.  Quite  a  man,  too, 
the  bosun.    Only  the  day  before  a  big  coal-passer 

108 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

had  suddenly  given  a  wild  yell  and  leaped  over 
the  side.  The  bosun,  without  yelling,  had  gone 
over  after  him.  It  was  a  fine  thing  really,  but 
not  as  the  bosun  explained  it. 

"The  ridiculousest  thing  you  ever  saw,"  says 
he.  "The  big  brute,  he  weighed  one  hundred 
and  ninety  and  I  don't  s'pose  I  weigh  over  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five,  and  he  couldn't  swim, 
and  tried  to  throw  his  arms  around  my  neck. 
And  instead  gave  me  a  black  eye — look,"  and  the 
bosun  showed  the  eye.  "But  I  give  him  a  knee 
in  his  stomach  under  water,  and  a  wallop  in  the 
nose  out  o'  water,  and  when  he  let  go,  another 
wallop  in  the  jaw.  'You  big  loafer,'  I  says,  'what 
you  tryin'  to  do,  hah — drown  me  ?'  Then  I  towed 
him  to  the  gangway." 

Here  the  bosun  paused  and  reflected:  "I 
ain't  got  the  tonnage,  though,  to  be  pulling  these 
big  cart-horses  out  o'  the  water  regularly.  The 
next  one  '11  be  liable  to  drown  if  he  waits  for  me. 
Now  if  'twas  Glavin" — he  pointed  a  finger  to  the 
chief  machinist,  who  was  leaning  over  the  rail  and 
gazing  abstractedly  toward  the  city — "if  it  was 
Glavin  now,  he'd  've  just  gone  on  treadin'  water 
and  tossed  him  onto  the  armor-belt  shelf  all  in 
one  motion" — which  was  the  most  exaggerated 
praise,  of  course,  but  going  to  show  that  physically, 
at  least,  Glavin  rated  high  in  that  ship. 

109 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

As  I  took  to  sizing  up  Glavin,  a  young  appren- 
tice lad  approached  him.  The  boy  said  something 
in  a  low  tone.  Glavin  regarded  him  in  mingled 
grief  and  surprise.  "And  only  yesterday  afternoon 
the  master-at-arms  tells  me  he  saw  you  shooting 
crap  atop  of  one  of  the  cold  boilers,"  he  said. 

"That's  why,  sir,"  said  the  lad.  "They  cleaned 
me  out." 

"Now  look  here,"  said  Glavin,  and  gave  him  a 
fine  dressing  down,  after  which  he  handed  a  five- 
dollar  bill  to  the  boy. 

The  bosun  roared  aloud.  "Some  easy — you! 
On  the  level,  Glavin,  did  ever  you  refuse  a  man  a 
dollar  in  your  life  ? " 

"Yes,  I  did — once,"  answered  Glavin.  Only 
that  then,  but  later  he  told  the  whole  story.  And 
here  it  is  as  he  told  it,  the  story  of  the  Gree  Gree 
Man. 

I 

I  was  a  chief  water-tender  at  this  time  on  one 
of  the  heavy-armored  cruisers  of  the  Asiatic  squad- 
ron, and  there  was  an  ordinary  seaman  who  was 
also  a  great  tailor,  and  being  willing  to  work  early 
and  late,  he  used  to  make,  oh,  maybe,  two  hundred 
dollars  a  month  over  and  above  his  pay.  And 
being  the  best-hearted  fellow  in  the  world,  he  gen- 
erally gave  it  away  again.     Didn't  matter  who 

no 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

it  was  that  asked  Tailor  Haley  for  money;  he  got 
it,  if  Haley  had  it.  And,  of  course,  Haley  never 
saved  a  cent  in  spite  of  all  he  used  to  make. 

Well,  we  were  laying  into  Nagasaki  one  day 
when  Haley  broke  his  liberty  and  came  aboard 
good  and  drunk.  It  happened  to  be  right  after 
some  American  bluejackets  had  taken  charge  of 
a  souvenir  store  where  they'd  been  paying  seven- 
teen prices  for  things  and  then  not  getting  the  real 
article,  though  not  for  anything  like  that  did  our 
fellows  begin  the  trouble.  It  was  that  some  of 
them  'd  made  the  Chinese  cruise  before  and  so 
happened  to  know  the  money  there,  and  when  this 
yellow  chap  tried  to  short-change  them  it  was 
like  sounding  general  quarters.  There  must  have 
been,  oh,  a  dozen  or  fifteen  shop  people  went  out 
of  commission  before  our  people  sounded  off  that 
day.  Well,  our  ship's  party  was  known  to  've  been 
around  about  there  at  the  time,  and  the  Japan- 
ese merchant  who'd  lost  some  money  and  come 
aboard,  he  picked  out  Tailor  Haley  as  the  man  that 
started  the  trouble  in  his  place,  and  a  Japanese 
policeman  backed  him  up. 

How  did  he  know  ?  Why,  by  Tailor's  hat- 
band, he  said.  He  couldn't  read  a  word  of  our 
print,  mind  you,  nor  could  the  policeman;  but 
they  both  could  read  the  name  on  the  hat  band. 
Well,  all  right. 

in 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

Now  Tailor  knew,  as  we  found  out  later,  that 
it  was  a  chief  petty  officer  who'd  come  so  near  to 
putting  this  particular  merchant  out  of  commis- 
sion, and  Tailor  knew,  too,  that  that  same  chief 
water-tender  was  drunk  when  he  did  it,  so  drunk 
that  he  didn't  remember  about  it  when  he  came 
to.  Somebody  had  to  go  to  the  brig  for  it,  and 
Tailor,  with  never  a  word,  went;  that  is,  no  word 
except  to  say,  to  whiten  a  little  the  black  mark 
against  the  service,  "I  was  too  drunk  at  the  time 
to  know  what  I  was  doing."  As  to  the  money 
part,  everybody  who  knew  Tailor  laughed  at  that 
the  same  as  Tailor  did.  "Lord,"  says  Tailor, 
"you  can  put  me  down  for  most  anything  foolish, 
but  when  it  comes  to  stealin!" 

However,  after  a  summary  court-martial,  he 
was  dishonorably  discharged,  but  the  stealing 
charge  not  proved.  The  officers,  knowing  Tailor, 
wouldn't  stand  for  that. 

Now,  I  knew  that  Tailor  didn't  do  it.  How  ? 
Well,  Tailor  and  myself  were  great  chums,  and 
the  afternoon  this  thing  happened  we  were  in  a 
tea-house  with  the  Geisha  girls  dancing  and  we 
sitting  cross-legged  on  the  mats,  drinking  tea 
while  we  watched  'em. 

Now,  casting  back  to  make  out  why  Tailor 
stood  for  what  he  did,  I  remembered — and  there 
were  but  few  men  for'ard  who  didn't  remember — 

112 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

that  day  before  we  left  San  Francisco  and  the  two 
sisters  of  this  chief  water-tender  who  came  aboard 
to  bid  him  good-by.  And  this  chief  water-tender, 
in  spite  of  what  had  happened  to  Tailor,  was  a 
good  fellow.  And  if  he  hadn't  been  we'd  have 
overlooked  it  for  the  sake  of  his  sisters;  there 
was  nothing  promenading  the  quarter,  let  alone 
the  for'ard  deck,  to  be  rated  with  them  that  day. 

They  certainly  made  prizes  of  the  whole  chief 
water-tender  mess.  They  had  everything  going 
to  do  it — looks  and  figure  and  the  quick  wit,  and 
the  heart  that's  more  than  all.  And  so  maybe 
you'll  understand — Tailor  worshipping  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd  and  that  chief  water-tender,  the 
brother  of  these  girls,  hoping  to  go  up  for  his  war- 
rant before  long.  Do  you  see  what  it  meant  to 
the  chief  water-tender  and  the  kind  of  chap  Tailor 
was — in  his  fourth  enlistment  and  still  an  ordinary 
seaman.  To  Tailor  the  navy  was  only  another 
place  to  pass  the  time  in,  while  to  this  chief  water- 
tender,  brother  of  those  girls,  it  meant  his  whole 
life. 

Well,  Tailor  was  dishonorably  discharged,  and 
there  he  was  broke  and  blue,  and  ten  thousand 
miles  from  home.  So  I  beat  the  decks  with  a 
paper,  one  mess  after  the  other,  and  they  gave 
like  sailors  and  bluejackets:  chief  petty  officers 
five  dollars,  first-class  men  four  dollars,  second- 
ly 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

class  three,  and  so  on  down  to  the  young  appren- 
tice boys,  who  gave  a  dollar  each;  and  many 
would  have  given  more,  a  month's  pay  some  of 
them,  if  they'd  been  allowed.  Everybody  gave 
but  one  fellow — well,  I  won't  disgrace  any  branch 
of  the  service  by  saying  what  division  he  was  in; 
but  this  fellow — Bowles,  as  you  can  guess — instead 
of  money  gives  me  a  lecture.  Said  Tailor  shouldn't 
get  anything  from  anybody.  Deserved  no  pity — 
ought  to  have  saved  for  a  rainy  day.  "The  sun 
don't  shine  every  day,"  I  remember  him  saying. 

"A  shipmate  of  yours  as  well  as  everybody 
else's  here,  and  a  good  shipmate,  and  now  he's 
down  and  out — what  d'y'  say?"  I  says,  to  give 
him  one  last  chance.  But  nothing  came  of  my 
pleading,  and  I  said,  "Well,  'the  best  thing  I'll 
wish  for  you  is  that  you'll  never  have  to  ask  me 
for  a  dollar." 

Well,  after  Tailor  was  put  ashore,  three  or  four 
of  us,  friends  of  Tailor's,  made  up  our  minds 
that  the  first  chance  Bowles  would  give  us  we'd 
throw  him.  We'd  already  come  to  believe  that 
'twas  him  looted  the  Jap's  cash-box,  and  not  in 
drink  when  he  did  it,  either.  No,  he  wasn't  that 
kind,  nor  was  he  the  kind  would  do  things  out  of 
sheer  devilment  because  he  couldn't  hold  himself 
in.  So  we  rigged  up  a  game  one  day  to  make  the 
master-at-arms  open  up  his  diddy-box,  and,  sure 

II4 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

enough,  there  was  more  gold  than  ever  he  drew 
from  the  paymaster.  Well,  that  was  no  proof, 
one  gold  piece  being  pretty  much  like  another; 
but  only  one  thing  did  all  of  us  here  believe.  And 
to  think  of  him  putting  the  Jap  merchant  and 
the  policeman  up  to  saying  'twas  Tailor  did  that 
jobl  There  was  so  much  feeling  against  Bowles 
that  all  hands  took  to  watching  him  night  and 
day.  Never  mind  at  what.  There  are  some  things 
not  pleasant  to  talk  about — and  at  last  he  was 
put  on  the  beach. 

We  all  thought  we'd  seen  the  last  of  him  then. 
But  one  day  on  our  way  home,  in  Callao  a  year 
or  so  later,  we  had  a  big  international  race — Eng- 
lish, French,  German,  Italian,  a  dozen  crews — I 
was  stroke  of  our  ship's  crew.  A  good  hard  race, 
and  forty  thousand  dollars  comin'  to  us  when  we 
crossed  the  line.  And  all  I  could  raise  I  bet  on 
that  race,  and  when  I  went  ashore  it  was  with 
twelve  hundred  dollars  in  my  clothes.  Of  course 
it  wouldn't  do  to  take  that  bundle  of  money  back 
to  the  States,  so  I  was  setting  out  to  burn  it,  with 
a  couple  of  good  lads  in  my  own  division  to  help 
hold  a  match  to  it  now  and  then. 

And  walking  up  from  the  jetty,  that  stone 
jetty  with  the  big  clock  on  the  sort  of  a  light-house, 
who  should  we  meet  but  Bowles.  There  was 
every  mark  that  he  had  gone  to  pieces.    I  saw  him, 

"5 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

but  didn't  let  on  to  know  him.  But  he  signalled 
and  I  stopped.  Maybe  he  thought  I'd  speak  first, 
but  I  didn't.  I  only  looked  him  over.  Did  you 
ever  do  that  to  a  man  down  and  out  ?  He  must 
be  a  bad  one  to  do  that  to,  mustn't  he  ?  Well, 
this  was  a  bad  one — I  haven't  hinted  at  the  half 
about  him.  And  his  eyes  were  a  hunted  dog's  eyes, 
his  lips  like  a  child's  that  expects  to  be  struck 
down.     "Glavin" — he  starts. 

"You  mean  Mr.  Glavin,  don't  you?"  I  says. 

"It  was  plain  Glavin  once,"  he  says,  "or  may- 
be you've  got  your  warrant  by  this  ? " 

On  my  word,  I  didn't  think  he  had  so  much 
spunk  in  him.  "No,"  I  says,  "I  haven't  got  my 
warrant,  and  it's  still  plain  Glavin — to  shipmates 
and  friends." 

He  eyes  me  cornerwise.  "Mr.  Glavin,  you 
haven't  the  price  of  a  meal,  have  you  ?" 

"I  have,"  I  says,  "of  a  meal  or  a  drink,  and  a 
good  many  of  them!" 

He  looked  at  me  again  as  if  he  thought  I'd 
speak  first,  but  I  didn't,  and  the  shame  of  it  never 
stopped  him.     "Well,  let  me  have  it,  will  you  ?" 

"Will  I  ?"  I  says,  and  I  looked  him  over  again. 
But  he  did  have  the  mean  eyes!  And  he  had  the 
body  that  couldn't  possibly  hold  the  heart  or  soul 
of  any  kind  of  a  man.  How  a  recruiting  officer 
ever  passed  him,  I  don't  know. 

116 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

"Will  I?"  I  says,  and  I  pulled  out  my  roll 
with  it.  It  made  a  bundle  as  big  as  my  forearm, 
nothing  short  of  a  ten  or  twenty,  except  a  few 
five  and  ten  dollar  gold  pieces  in  my  other  pocket 
for  change.  "Do  you  remember  Tailor  Haley?" 
I  goes  on.  He  didn't  say  anything.  "Well,"  I 
says,  "before  I  give  you  a  nickel  you'll  starve  to- 
day, if  it  lays  with  me,  for  what  you  did  to  Tailor 
Haley." 

He  backs  away  from  me,  thought  I  was  going 
to  hit  him,  maybe;  but  I'd  no  more  strike  him 
than  I  would  a  leper  with  a  broken  back.  "But 
Fll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  I  goes  on.  "Fll  go 
back  aboard  the  ship  and  I'll  tell  them  the  whole 
story,  and  after  that,  Fll  pass  around  a  paper  for 
you." 

And  I  did,  after  I'd  told  the  story  to  the  new 
men  who  didn't  know  it.  And  I  beat  the  decks, 
above  and  below,  missing  not  a  man,  even  going 
down  into  the  bunkers  below,  and  I  came  back, 
and  not  a  cent  had  I.  But  as  I  was  going  over 
the  side  a  machinist,  third-class,  hails  me  and 
says,  "Hold  up,  Glavin.  Him  and  me,  we  used 
to  be  in  the  same  mess,  and  I  remember  now  he 
passed  me  the  butter  once — here's  a  quarter  to  get 
the  poor  devil  a  meal."  And  another  says,  "Well, 
I  never  before  refused  a  man  money  and  I'd  hate 
to  have  it  on  my  ticket  that  I  ever  did  refuse  a 

"7 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

man  money.  So  here's  a  dime  to  get  the  hag's 
son  a  drink." 

Over  the  side  I  went  with  the  thirty-five  cents 
and  took  it  ashore,  and  giving  it  to  him  I  says, 
"Here's  what  seven  hundred  men  of  your  old  ship 
have  subscribed — thirty-five  cents.  It  'd  been  a 
thousand  dollars  if  you'd  done  right.  And  that's 
for  Tailor  Haley,"  I  goes  on.  "And  if  you  meet 
anybody  poorer  than  yourself  before  you  strike  a 
cantina  or  wherever  it  is  you're  going,  I  know 
you'll  divide  with  him,  you  being  that  charitable 
kind."  He'd  turned  away  by  then  and  was  all 
but  crying — in  pity  for  himself,  I  s'pose. 

"  Remember  your  own  favorite  warning,"  I  says. 
"'The  sun  don't  shine  every  day  ?'"  God  forgive 
me,  but  the  sun  that  day  in  Callao  was  like  a 
glory  in  the  sky! 


II 


Well,  I  was  home  from  the  East  on  my  fur- 
lough when  I  got  word  from  Mr.  Wilson  saying 
that  he  was  to  be  executive  on  one  of  the  fast 
scout-ships  and  she  was  started  for  the  West  Coast, 
and  would  I  go  with  him.  A  fine  officer,  Mr. 
Wilson — one  of  the  best.  After  a  man's  been  in 
a  big  cruiser  and  a  battle-ship,  a  scout-ship  don't 
look  so  great,  but  because  of  Mr.  Wilson  I  shipped 

118 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

in  her.  Good  officers  mean  more,  after  all,  than 
big  tonnage. 

So  we  ran  over,  putting  into  a  little  place — I 
never  knew  the  native  name  for  it,  but  a  little  place 
on  a  point  making  out  from  a  black  river.  And 
there  was  a  little  light-house  on  black  and  white 
painted  stilts  and  a  lot  of  black  sludge  around  it. 
Before  we  went  ashore,  Mr.  Wilson  called  me  to 
his  room. 

"Glavin,"  he  says,  "I  may  need  you  on  this 
thing  we  got  to  look  into.  There  was  an  Ameri- 
can ship-captain,  Berg,  and  his  daughter.  He  was 
drowned — or  murdered — here,  nearly  two  years 
now.  The  daughter  was  supposed  to  be  drowned, 
too,  but  the  relatives  have  heard  rumors  and  they 
think  she  may  be  alive.  They  have  an  idea  that 
one  of  these  secret  societies  may  've  got  her.  Now 
when  we  go  ashore,  you  leave  me  and  cruise  for 
yourself  till  I'm  ready  to  return  to  the  ship.  I  can 
get  all  the  official  information  I  want,  but  the 
natives  '11  never  talk  to  an  officer,  you  know.  Off 
by  yourself  you  may  be  able  to  learn  something." 

Mr.  Wilson  took  the  steam-launch  and  half  a 
dozen  of  us  of  the  crew  ashore  with  him.  But 
the  man  he  wanted  to  find  was  at  a  settlement — 
inland — fifteen  or  twenty  miles — so  we  steamed  up 
this  black  river,  dark  even  at  noon-time  with  the 
trees  hanging  away  over,  and  soft,  squishy  banks. 

119 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

On  the  way  up,  Mr.  Wilson  spoke  of  a  Mr. 
Thomson  he  had  to  meet,  and  I  was  wondering 
could  he  be  old  Chief  Thomson,  the  same,  they 
said,  that  Bowles  *d  been  mixed  up  with.  I  asked 
Mr.  Wilson,  but  he  said  it  couldn't  be,  as  old 
Thomson  was  dead  near  a  year. 

From  the  river  we  steamed  into  a  lagoon,  and 
there  Mr.  Wilson  met  his  Mr.  Thomson,  who  was 
as  black  as  one  of  the  black  gang's  black  bags 
aboard  ship,  though  dressed  like  a  white  English 
swell — a  long  coat,  top  hat,  and  patent-leather 
shoes,  and  a  cane,  which  he  never  forgot  to  swing. 
A  big  fellow  when  you  got  close  to  him,  and 
could  Ve  been  a  Congo  chief  straight  out  of  the 
jungle,  by  his  features,  only  he  talked  good  English, 
with  a  topside  accent.  Mr.  Wilson  went  off  with 
Thomson  to  a  sort  of  office  building. 

There  was  a  lot  of  other  niggers  standing  round, 
some  of  them  not  wearing  much  clothes,  and  while 
Mr.  Wilson  was  gone  off  with  Thomson,  some  of 
our  crowd  got  to  talking  with  them  as  well  as  we 
could — two  or  three  of  them  knew  some  English. 
But  we  didn't  get  on  very  fast,  and  took  to  stroll- 
ing round  to  see  what  the  place  looked  like,  how 
the  people  lived,  and  so  on.  And  bearing  in  mind 
to  learn  a  little  something  more,  I  got  away  from 
the  village,  nobody  noticing  me  particularly,  or  so 
I  thought,  till  I  drifted  up  a  narrow  path  that 

120 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

soon  led  into  the  dark  forest.  After  a  time  I  saw 
flying  from  a  pole  alongside  the  path  a  white  cloth 
with  a  queer  black  design  on  it.  A  circle  it  was, 
outside  of  a  man's  hand  holding  what  looked  like 
a  war  club.  Then  a  nigger  came  running  after 
me  and  made  a  sign  that  I  mustn't  go  that  way. 

"Leopard — lion — hippo — me  no  'fraid,"  I  said, 
but  he  moved  his  hands  faster  than  ever. 

"No,  no  lion — girls — womans — Gree  Gree 
Bush!"  he  said.  And  I  said,  "Ho-ho!"  and 
waved  him  away  again.  "A  fine  time  of  day," 
I  thought,  "when  I've  got  to  run  away  from  a 
lot  of  women.  Some  chief's  harem,"  I  thought,  a 
little  pleased  at  the  notion  of  strange  sights,  and 
pushed  on.  The  nigger  gave  a  sorrowful  cry  and 
ran  back. 

I  followed  the  path  till  I  came  to  a  stockade, 
maybe  ten  feet  high,  made  of  thick  trunks  of  what 
must  've  been  palm-trees.  The  spaces  in  between 
were  plastered  with  mud  or  clay,  and  the  sides 
being  so  smooth  I  had  some  trouble  in  climbing  up. 

There  were  three  buildings,  long  and  low — 
bungalows  they  would  call  them  in  the  East — 
and  so  much  better  built  and  so  different  from 
any  of  the  other  buildings  I'd  seen  since  I  landed, 
most  others  being  only  one-story  things  of  mud 
and  leaves,  that  I  knew  right  away  that  they 
must  be  for  some  unusual  purpose.    And  while  I 

121 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

was  puzzling  over  just  what  they  might  be,  I 
heard  women's  voices  from  inside  repeating  some- 
thing, like  as  if  it  might  be  a  prayer,  after  some 
leader.  And  then  came  singing,  and  then  like 
somebody  preaching  or  reciting,  and  then  they  all 
came  filing  out  from  the  building  farthest  away 
from  where  I  was. 

It  was  coming  on  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
behind  me  was  a  lot  of  trees.  All  around,  in  fact, 
except  at  the  one  opening  where  the  path  was, 
the  trees  were  solid;  which  was  why  they  proba- 
bly didn't  see  me,  though  I  wasn't  trying  to  hide 
myself.  Not  at  first,  I  wasn't.  I  couldn't  see 
any  reason  that  it  mattered  at  first,  though  soon, 
recollecting  the  nigger  back  on  the  path,  I  began 
to  feel  that  this  wasn't  meant  for  me  or  any  white 
man,  or  for  any  man  to  see. 

They  wore  only  long  white  robes  with  a  red 
sash  around  their  waists,  and  they  were  all  bare- 
footed and  bare-armed  and  all  black  or  brown 
— except  one,  who  looked  to  be  a  white  girl. 

She  was  in  the  last  row  as  they  came  up  four 
by  four,  and  I  kept  my  eyes  on  her.  I  was  hoping 
she'd  look  up.  And  she  did.  Just  before  she 
filed  in  the  door  of  the  building  near  my  end  she 
looked  up,  and  her  eyes — they  doubled  her  love- 
liness! I  don't  know  what  made  me — I  never 'd 
been  given  to  speaking  to  strange  women — "Look 

122 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

for  me  to-night,"  I  called  out,  and  whistled  like 
a  whippoorwill  and  slid  down  from  the  wall. 

"Ah-h — to-night!"  said  a  voice  from  behind  me. 
I  turned.  There  was  a  white  man  with  a  revolver 
aimed  at  me. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  I  said.  It  was 
almost  dusk,  mind.  He  jumped  back,  with  a 
queer  noise  in  his  throat,  which  made  me  take  a 
sharper  look.  "What!"  It  was — but  I  could 
hardly  believe  it — Bowles! 

I  jumps  for  him.  He  runs,  but  in  four  leaps  I 
had  him,  and  throwing  my  weight  onto  his  back 
and  slamming  him  to  the  ground,  I  took  the  re- 
volver from  him  and  turned  his  face  up  to  what 
light  was  left.  Sure  enough  it  was  the  face  I'd 
last  seen  that  day  on  the  dock  in  Callao. 

I  stuck  the  revolver  in  my  jacket-pocket,  stood 
up,  and  said,  "Look  here — you  know  how  I  love 
you,  don't  you  ?" 

He  didn't  say  anything  to  that.  "Well,  look 
here,"  I  said  again,  and  gripped  him  by  the  throat. 
"Now  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know."  I  eased  up 
on  his  throat.  "Who  are  these  women — these 
girls?" 

"They're  sacred.  It's  death  if  you're  caught 
looking  in  on  them — death  even  to  be  here.  Only 
the  Zoah  and  the  council  can  visit  here,  and  then 
they  must  all  go  together  at  some  appointed  time." 

123 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

"Then  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

He  didn't  answer. 

"And  who's  the  Zoah?" 

"Mr.  Thomson." 

"Mr.  Thomson?  The  big  fellow  in  the  swell 
clothes  ?     And  he  sent  you  after  me  ?" 

"Yes,  when  Daiko  came  back  to  tell  him  you 
were  headed  up  this  path." 

"And  what  if  I  stay  around  here  to-night 
— somebody  '11  kill  me,  huh  ?  And  that  some- 
body '11  be  Mr.  Thomson,  huh — or  somebody  he'll 
appoint?" 

He  didn't  answer.  Perhaps  he  couldn't,  for  I 
had  him  gurgling  under  my  fingers  most  of  the 
time.  "And  I  suppose  you'll  go  back  to  the  vil- 
lage if  I  let  you?"  I  goes  on.  "And  you're  one 
of  them  now  ?  And  you  got  an  establishment  of 
your  own  by  this  time  ?" 

He  didn't  say  anything.  I  couldn't  see  his  face 
very  well — it  was  dark  by  then;  but  I  felt  I  had  it 
right.  It  was  easy  enough  to  imagine  him,  the 
kind  he  was,  to  settle  down  among  them,  with 
three  or  four  oily,  black,  fat  wives  hanging  around 
him.  "And  look  here!"  I  gave  his  throat  a 
fresh  squeeze,  till  he  must've  thought  I  really 
intended  to  choke  him  to  death.  "Who's  that 
girl?" 

"What  girl  ?'! 

124 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

"You  know  what  girl.  Tell  me  right  or" — I 
think  I'd  have  choked  him  where  he  stood  if  he 
hadn't  answered.  At  last  I  got  it  out  of  him. 
She  was  Captain  Berg's  daughter.  She  had  been 
kidnapped. 

I  was  going  to  let  him  go,  when  I  had  an  in- 
spiration. "This  Zoah,  this  Thomson — he  wants 
to  get  hold  of  this  girl,  don't  he  ? " 

He  admitted  it.  It  was  against  all  the  laws  of 
the  bush  society,  but  Thomson  was  planning  to 
get  her,  nevertheless.  He  was  even  planning  to 
kidnap  her  from  this  place — a  sacrilegious  thing. 

After  this  I  let  go  his  throat.  "You  go  back," 
I  said,  "and  say  nothing  of  me.  If  they  ask  you, 
say  you  couldn't  find  me,  and  they  will  think  that 
I  got  lost  in  the  jungle.  A  few  more  lies  oughtn't 
to  worry  your  conscience — and  you'll  be  safe.  If 
you  hint  of  me — feel  that?" — I  gripped  his  throat 
again — "I'll  kill  you  before  the  ship  leaves  port. 
Get  that?  You  do,  eh?  Well,  then,  get  out!" 
He  backed  away  for  half-a-dozen  steps,  then  he 
hurried  off  in  the  darkness. 

I  climbed  up  on  the  stockade  and  for  perhaps 
an  hour  I  lay  there,  not  moving  or  speaking. 
There  were  lights  in  the  middle  bungalow.  After 
a  time  I  whistled  sofdy,  three  times  together,  the 
whippoorwill's  call.  I  didn't  know  if  there  were 
any  whippoorwills  in  that  country,  but  I  felt  that 

125 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

she  would  recognize  it  when  she  heard.  No  an- 
swer, and  I  whistled  again  and  again,  softly.  I 
was  still  whistling — I  had  heard  nothing — when 
a  voice  below  me  said,  "Sh-h " 

I  could  hardly  make  her  out,  even  in  her  white 
robe,  it  was  so  dark.  I  made  ready  to  drop  down 
to  her. 

"No,  no,  no!  You  must  not.  They  would  kill 
you.  But  if  you  can  come  back — you  are  sailor 
and  American,  yes  ?  My  father  was  sailor  and 
American,  also."  She  spoke  good  English,  but 
slowly,  as  though  out  of  practice  at  it.  "I  have 
been  praying,  prayers  of  my  dead  mother,  for  some 
great,  strong,  white  man  to  come  and  take  me." 

I  almost  leaped  down — I  don't  know  now  why 
I  didn't.  "Til  get  you  out  of  here.  I'll  come 
back  with  a  ship's  company  and  we  won't  rest 
till " 

"No,  no,  no!  that  would  not  do.  You  must 
come  only  yourself — secretly — at  night.  I  will 
show  you  the  way." 

I  got  no  further.  A  series  of  calls  rang  out  from 
inside.  "I  must  go  back.  It  is  for  prayers  before 
bed.  If  I  am  not  there,  I  shall  be  missed.  But 
after — I  shall  come  back.  Wait  for  me,  but  oh, 
take  care!" 

As  she  fled  away  I  did  the  foolish  thing.  Believ- 
ing that  if  any  others  of  the  women  there  did  hear 

126 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

me  they  would  not  understand,  I  called  aloud, 
"I'll  be  waiting — don't  fail!"  and  repeated  the 
whippoorwill's  call,  and  with  that  dropped  off 
outside  the  wall. 

"Waiting!"  I  fondly  fancied  her  echoing  it. 
But  no  voice  of  hers  was  that.  A  laugh  followed 
it,  and  shuffling  feet,  and  the  stirring  of  under- 
brush, and  heavy  breathing. 

"Who's  there?"  I  called  out — the  foolishness 
of  it;  but  I,  aflame  with  the  things  I  had  in  mind, 
felt  strong  enough  to  lick  a  whole  tribe  of  black 
men. 

I  had  my  back  to  the  stockade.  "Who's  there ! " 
I  called  again.  No  answer — only  the  feeling  that 
they  were  closing  in  on  me.  Bowles's  revolver 
hung  heavy  in  my  inside  pocket,  and  I  drew  it  out, 
took  a  step  forward — another,  maybe  another,  and 
then  it  came.  No  terrible  pain,  but  a  dull  blow, 
and  then  something  like  a  great  weight  coming 
down  upon  me.  I  swayed,  sagged  slowly  down, 
but  came  up.  Again  the  dull  blow  and  the  weight, 
and  "What  a  pity!  what  a  pity!"  I  said  to  my- 
self.   And  that's  all  I  remember  of  that. 


127 


Gree  Gree  Bush 


III 


Next  thing  I  remember  I  was  lying  in  some 
kind  of  a  low  shack  with  a  dim  light  in  one  cor- 
ner and  a  negro  fanning  himself  in  another,  and 
two  negroes  armed,  each  with  a  big,  knobby  war 
club  and  a  heavy  revolver — and  no  old-fashioned 
make,  but  as  modern  as  any  officer's  service 
weapon — a  queer  combination,  I  thought,  when 
I  did  think.  I  wasn't  thinking  too  much.  My 
head  wasn't  aching  so  terribly,  though  it  did  ache, 
but  my  mind  wasn't  clear  and  I  was  hungry. 

I  lay  there,  stupid  enough,  I  guess,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  it  was  a  dream  and  not  real,  when  I 
heard  a  great  beating  of  tomtoms.  Before  I  could 
think  of  them  at  all  the  sound  of  them  was  ring- 
ing through  me.  Perhaps  'twas  their  noise  woke 
me  up.  It  came  from  somewhere  outside,  and, 
more  than  any  thought  of  clubs  and  revolvers  or 
sudden  attack,  it  put  dread  into  my  soul.  Slow, 
regular  at  first,  but  getting  faster  and  faster,  and 
that  yah-yah,  yah-yah,  yah-yah  which  no  white 
people  can  ever  get,  not  till  I  found  my  heart 
beating  to  that  note  of  it  did  I  begin  to  feel  the 
least  worry. 

A  white  man  came  in.  It  was  Bowles,  I  saw — 
after  a  while.  Then  I  closed  my  eyes  again.  He 
128 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

bent  over  me  and  put  his  eyes  close  to  mine — I 
could  feel  him.  He  went  out  then,  but  soon  re- 
turned with  the  nigger  Daiko,  who  fed  me  a  bowl 
of  rice  and  a  cup  of  some  kind  of  kola-nut  prepara- 
tion. 

Bowles  watched  me.  "That's  right,  Daiko," 
he  said,  "feed  him  well.  He  must  be  brought  to 
the  sacrifice  in  his  full  strength.  Soon  now. 
Everything,  the  Zoah  says,  must  be  over  by  sun- 
rise." I  never  let  on  I  heard  that,  because  I  too 
well  knew  he  meant  it  for  me,  not  for  the  negro. 

I  needed  that  food,  for  I  must  've  lost  quite  a 
little  blood.  But  with  that  food  inside  of  me  I 
felt  better,  a  lot  better. 

The  tomtoms  stopped,  and  then  another  nigger 
came  in  and  said  something  to  Daiko,  and  he 
motioned  to  me  as  if  to  say  that  if  I  had  done 
eating  we  would  go.  They  led  me  then,  with 
torch-bearers  ahead  and  behind  me,  by  way  of  a 
jungle  path,  oh,  perhaps  a  quarter-mile  to  a  build- 
ing that  was  maybe  sixty  by  forty,  with  an  earth 
floor,  high  studded  enough  for  two  stories,  and  the 
whole  side  wall  solid  all  the  way  up  except  for  half  a 
dozen  slits  up  under  the  roof  as  if  for  ventilation. 
I'd  been  in  half  darkness  so  long  that  the  place 
seemed  bright  to  me,  though  it  couldn't  have 
been  too  bright,  for  there  were  only  two  lamps 
in  the  place,  one  at  each  end — big-bowled,  old- 

129 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

fashioned,  kerosene  bracket  lamps,  like  what  they 
used  in  stables  at  home.  They  had  reflectors 
behind  the  light  and  were  set,  oh,  nine  or  ten  feet 
above  the  floor. 

The  place  was  rigged  up  like  a  lodge-room 
of  most  any  secret  society  in  our  country  except 
that  there  was  only  one  platform  and  pedestal, 
at  the  farther  end  from  where  they  stood  me. 
Thomson  stood  there.  All  around,  the  others 
stood  along  the  two  long  sides  of  the  room,  close 
together.  I  didn't  count  them,  but  there  must 
have  been  seventy  or  eighty  of  them.  And  they 
were  all  dressed  alike,  naked  except  for  a  loin 
cloth  and  some  kind  of  wild  animal's  skin  half 
covering  them,  beautiful  lion  and  leopard  skins — 
some  one,  some  the  other.  Their  bodies  mostly 
were  oily  in  the  light.  Every  one  carried  a  war 
club,  one  end  resting  on  the  ground,  and  a  big  re- 
volver, like  the  two  who'd  been  guarding  back  in 
the  shack,  and  I  couldn't  help  wondering  why 
they  carried  the  clubs  when  they  could  get  such 
good,  up-to-date  weapons.  But  perhaps  that  was 
a  regulation  of  the  secret  society,  by  way  of  re- 
minding them,  the  same  as  the  tomtoms  were. 

They  kept  me  standing  there  with  nothing 
said  or  done  for  maybe  ten  minutes.  Not  one  of 
them  looked  away  from  me,  but  I  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  them.     It  was  Thomson  I  was  measuring 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

up.  And  measured  by  inches,  he  was  a  proper 
man.  I  couldn't  help  thinking  what  a  grand 
heavy-weight  ring  fighter  he'd  have  made,  and 
wishing  I  could  have  a  try  at  him  before  they 
sewed  me  up,  tied  the  weight,  and  slid  me  over 
the  side. 

Bowles  and  Daiko  had  been  sent  out  and  now 
they  came  back,  the  door  being  unbolted  for  them 
after  a  queer  knock  three  times  given,  and  now 
they  let  in  Captain  Berg's  daughter.  She  was 
dressed  in  white  as  when  I  had  seen  her,  and 
plainly  the  dread  of  something  terrible  was  in  her 
eyes,  but  no  trembling  or  drawing  back.  They 
placed  her  face  to  me,  and  then  Bowles  and  Daiko 
were  told  to  leave.  Bowles,  first  turning  to  Thom- 
son as  if  claiming  some  privilege,  stepped  close 
to  me,  then  slapped  and  then  spat  in  my  face  three 
times. 

"That's  for  Tailor  Haley,"  he  said,  "and  that's 
for  the  day  you  ran  me  off  the  ship,  and  that's 
for  that  day  in  Callao.  And  the  sun  may  be  shin- 
ing every  day,  but  you'll  never  see  it  again." 

If  I'd  only  one  arm,  or  just  part  of  one  arm 
free,  he'd  have  got  his  big  discharge  then  and 
there.  But  I  only  said,  "You're  a  brave  man — 
you  always  were." 

When  the  two  were  gone,  Thomson  came  down 
from  his  platform  and  placed  a  long,  heavy  knife  in 

*3* 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

her  hand.  For  a  long  time  she  did  not  look  up 
at  me.  When  she  did  it  was  to  say,  "Do  you  un- 
derstand ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"You  are  to  die.  If  I  kill  you  I  save  my  life. 
If  I  don't,  then  I  die  and  you  are  put  to  torture." 

"Why  not?"  I  said  to  her.  "I've  got  to  go, 
anyway,  and  why  not  by  you,  and  you  save  your 
own  life  ? " 

"No,  no!"  she  whispered  and  shook  her  head. 
"  Do  you  not  see  I  am  not  of  them  ?  If  I  kill 
you,  do  you  not  see  how  they  will  regard  us  ? 
You  and  I — we  are  of  one  blood.  And  there  is," 
she  was  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  "a  way  of  escape 
from  the  torture." 

Her  lips  only  framed  the  last  three  words,  so 
that  nobody  else  there  could  possibly  know  what 
she  said.  Her  eyes  sought  mine,  then  she  directed 
them  to  the  knife  in  her  hand.  "  Save  me  from  him," 
her  lips  said,  though  no  sound  came  from  them. 

It  took  me  a  second  or  two  to  get  her  mean- 
ing. We  looked  at  each  other.  "  From  him ! "  she 
repeated  with  her  lips,  turning  her  eyes  without 
moving  her  head,  and  I  knew  she  meant  Thom- 
son, who  was  standing  rigid  beside  the  pedestal. 
On  his  kinky  head  fell  the  light  of  the  big  lamp 
behind  him.  From  behind  me  the  light  of  the 
other  lamp  shone  on  her. 

132 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

I  looked  from  her  to  Thomson  and  tried  to 
guess  what  he  was  thinking  of.  I  looked  around 
at  his  councillors.  To  Thomson  I  looked  again, 
and  he  smiled  like  a  devil  from  hell;  and  yet 
there  was  anxiety  in  his  eyes,  too,  while  she  stood 
there  as  if  hesitating. 

"You  must  decide — and  quickly,"  came  Thom- 
son's voice  suddenly,  sharply.  I  think  he  meant 
by  speaking  in  just  that  instant,  in  just  that  tone, 
to  settle  what  he  thought  were  her  doubts. 

With  one  last  appeal  in  her  eyes,  she  raised  the 
knife  and  bent  toward  me  as  if  to  bury  it  into 
my  breast.  I  raised  my  bound  hands  high  as  if 
to  let  her  strike  beneath  them  to  my  heart.  Even 
as  I  did  it,  I  could  feel  the  thrill  run  around  the 
room  and  above  all  the  cry  of  pleasure  from 
Thomson. 

"Now you  must"  she  said,  and  she  had  to  reach 
up  to  make  the  stroke.  One  quick  stroke  and  the 
bonds  were  cut  and  my  hands  free.  "And  here!" 
I  said,  and  she  slashed  my  ankle  bonds — the  whole 
thing  in  two  seconds.  With  the  knife  in  my  hands 
I  looked  at  Thomson  and  laughed.  "Here,"  I 
said,  and  stepped  toward  her  as  if  to  strike;  but 
what  I  intended  was  to  pick  her  up  and  dash  for 
the  door. 

Thomson  called  out  and  started  forward.  As 
he  came,  he  swung  his  great  war  club  and  hurled 

*33 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

it.  I  dodged,  and  as  it  struck  the  wall  just  behind 
me,  I  saw  my  chance.  I  picked  it  up,  leaped  into 
the  air  and  smashed  the  lamp  above  me,  then 
turned  toward  Thomson.  He  thought  I  meant  it 
for  him,  and  dropped  on  the  floor,  but  it  was  over 
his  head  I  threw  it — at  the  other  lamp. 

And  crash!  From  light  to  dark  was  quick  as 
that.  I  swooped  for  her  in  the  dark,  took  her  in 
my  left  arm.  "Now,"  I  said,  "here's  where  we'll 
have  company  going!"  and  leaped  for  the  door. 
One  man  I  felt  in  my  way,  and  I  drove  the  knife 
deep  into  him  somewhere.  Another,  and  him  I 
knifed,  too.  I  felt  for  the  door — unbarred  it.  All 
was  yelling  and  calling  by  now,  but  I  knew  it 
would  take  them  a  few  seconds  to  guess  what  I 
had  in  mind.  But  the  door  would  not  open  for 
me — it  was  barred  on  the  outside,  too. 

"Stay  here!"  I  whispered  to  her,  and  minding 
the  two  negroes  just  behind  that  I'd  knifed,  I 
reached  back  and  drew  them  close,  felt  for  their 
skin  coverings,  pulled  them  off  and  threw  them 
over  her.  "Lay  there  till  it's  over,"  I  said,  and 
also  pulled  the  two  bodies — I  made  sure  they  were 
dead  by  a  few  more  jabs — and  curled  them  around 
in  front  and  about  her.  At  the  same  time  I  took 
the  revolvers  from  their  belts.  They  had  no  extra 
cartridges  in  the  belts — none  of  'em  I  remembered 
then  had — only  what  they  carried  in  the  revolvers. 

134 


He  thought  I  meant  it  for  him,  and  dropped,  but  'twas  over 
his  head  I  threw  it — at  the  other  lamp 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

They  were  calling  to  each  other  now  as  if 
to  get  together,  and  somebody  said  something — 
Thomson's  voice  I  thought — and  I  saw  a  little 
light,  as  if  somebody  had  just  struck  a  match. 
The  light  flared  up.  I  aimed  at  the  light  before 
it  could  get  blazing.  A  yell  came,  and  at  that  I 
began  shooting  right  and  left.  Whatever  hap- 
pened was  the  worse  for  them.  There  were  sev- 
enty or  eighty  of  them  and  only  one  of  me.  In  no 
time  all  hands  were  shooting,  while  I  lay  on  the 
ground  next  the  bodies  guarding  the  girl  and  let 
them  shoot.  Feeling  another  body  fall  near  me, 
I  reached  over,  and  to  make  no  mistake  I  drove 
my  big  knife  into  him — and  drew  him  alongside.  I 
reached  around  till  I  found  the  club  of  the  last 
dead  man  and  waited  till  the  shooting  was  over 
which  was  soon  enough.  I  piled  this  new  body 
on  top  of  the  other  two  guarding  her. 

"You'll  be  safe  now,"  I  said. 

"Stay  here,  you,  too,"  she  whispered. 

"I  won't  go  far,"  I  said.  "I  won't  have  to," 
I  added  to  myself,  and  stood  up.  There  were 
groans  and  calls,  cries  of  terror  and  pain,  all  over 
the  place.  And  I  almost  laughed  when  I  started 
out  to  think  that  no  matter  who  I  drove  my  knife 
into,  it  was  an  enemy.  Every  time  one  of  them 
struck  out,  seventy  or  eighty  in  the  beginning  to 
my  one,  it  was  one  of  themselves  that  was  struck. 

135 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

All  I  had  to  do  was  not  to  let  anybody  grab  me 
and  hold  me  long  enough  to  discover  who  I  was. 

And  I  waded  in.  And  that  big  knife,  fifteen 
inches  long,  double-edged  and  heavy — without 
half  trying  I  could  have  reached  the  heart  of  a 
bullock  with  it.  Every  stroke  wasn't  a  sure  dead 
man,  but  pretty  near  it.  Never  a  one  I  struck 
that  didn't  go  down — if  not  dead,  well  on  the  way 
to  it.  And  some  of  them  yelled,  and  before  I'd 
knifed  half  a  dozen  fresh  ones,  they  were  in  a  new 
panic,  and  I  could  hear  all  hands  at  it  again,  strik- 
ing out  with  their  war  clubs.  Then  was  my  dan- 
ger— that  one  of  them  would  accidentally  hit  me. 

So  I  took  to  the  club  business,  too,  but  using 
two  clubs,  taking  my  second  from  the  hands  of 
the  last  man  I'd  knifed.  With  my  left-hand  club 
I  felt  for  them,  with  my  right-hand  one  I  cracked 
their  skulls.  When  I  thought  there  was  any  dan- 
ger to  either  side — I  could  tell  by  their  terrible 
breathing — I'd  drop  low  to  make  sure,  and  then 
let  them  have  it.  It  was  like  cracking  nuts  with  a 
hammer — as  easy  as  that  when  you  gauged  the 
distance  right.  They  couldn't  tell  me  from  one  of 
themselves.  Maybe  five  or  six  did  feel  my  shirt 
instead  of  the  smooth,  oily  bodies  of  themselves, 
but  by  then  it  was  always  too  late. 

When  I  felt  a  man  give  that  most  astonished 
grunt  at  close  quarters,  I  took  no  chances  but 

136 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

whipped  out  my  knife  and  stabbed  quick  and 
hard.  Three  or  four  times  I  went  down  under 
somebody  or  other,  but  always  then  I  reached  up 
and  slit  a  throat  or  a  belly  before  a  yell  could  come. 
That  knife!  A  finger's  weight  on  it  and  it  cut 
through  'em  like  soft  butter. 

One  time  they  quit  yelling — Thomson's  voice, 
I  think,  ordering;  but  I  wasn't  even  sure  of  that, 
so  crazy  was  I  getting  with  all  voices  beginning 
to  sound  a  good  deal  alike  to  me.  I  was  beginning 
not  to  care  where  I  fetched  up — I  only  wanted 
to  be  swinging  at  them.  But  this  time  I  stopped 
a  second  to  listen.  The  voice  must  have  been 
telling  them  how  foolish  they  were  to  be  killing 
each  other.  They  stopped  and  I  could  hear  them 
crowding  together  into  the  middle  of  the  place. 
I  guessed  there  were  half  of  'em  left  yet,  and  that 
wouldn't  do;  so  I  dove  in  among  'em  and  started 
swinging,  and  no  mortal  man,  white,  or  yellow,  or 
black  could  have  stood  there  and  been  hammered 
and  cracked  by  an  invisible  hand — like  black 
Death  itself — in  that  black  place,  and  not  struck 
back. 

That's  where  I  had  'em.  And  I  went  among 
'em  with  new  speed.  Only  when  I  felt  the  club 
touch  would  I  stop,  and  only  then  for  a  part  of  a 
second  to  make  sure,  and  then  it  was  lean  forward 
and  duck  low  and  let  him  have  it.     Not  many  I 

«J7 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

missed,  and  when  I  didn't  miss  they  went  down — 
and  mosdy  for  the  count. 

Of  course,  I  got  caught  a  few  times.  With 
bunches  of  'em  clinched  in  that  dark  I  couldn't 
always  dodge  'em.  But  when  that  happened  and 
I  went  down  under  'em,  I  used  the  knife  back 
and  up,  and  heaved  'em  off  me  in  a  hurry.  'Twas 
like  heaving  the  line  off  you  in  foot-ball,  and  I 
was  a  husky  lad  in  those  days.  Of  course  I  got  cut 
and  bruised,  and  what  with  the  bruises  and  loss  of 
blood  I  started  with,  I  began  to  feel  weak. 

It  had  been  a  hot  night  outside.  It  was  hotter 
than  a  fire-room  in  there.  I  could  almost  bite  the 
air  in  chunks,  what  with  the  heat  and  the  sweating 
and  the  blood  and  the  hot  breathing.  Just  the 
work  of  swinging  a  big  war  club  the  way  I  did 
for  the  Lord  knows  how  long — fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes,  maybe — that  with  the  excitement  was 
enough  to  keep  a  man  up. 

"A  little  more,"  I  remember  I  kept  saying  to 
myself,  "and  it  ought  to  be  over."  They  rolled 
slippery  around  my  feet.  I  fell  half  a  dozen  times 
quick,  there  were  so  many  of  'em  on  the  floor, 
and  I  was  getting  unsteady.  At  the  last  of  it  I 
let  myself  down  on  the  floor  and  crawled  among 
'em.  And  'twasn't  till  I  felt  there  were  no  more 
of  'em  left  in  the  open  that  I  began  to  wonder 
had  I  missed  any  in  the  corners. 

138 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

My  mind  wasn't  overclear  at  the  beginning  of 
it  and  surely  not  too  clear  toward  the  end.  I 
think  now  that  I  was  by  this  time  half  crazy.  I 
felt  and  pounded  in  the  corners,  but  no  live  one 
there.  And  then  I  stumbled  onto  the  platform 
for  the  first  time.  There  was  one  there.  At  first 
I  thought  he  was  dead  like  the  others,  but  he 
moved  under  me.  "Ah,  but  you're  a  cute  one!" 
I  said.  I  knew  him.  And  what  d'  y'  think  I  did  ? 
Dropped  knife  and  club  and  went  at  him. 

Half  crazy?  Sure  I  was.  "I  got  you,  Thom- 
son," I  says,  and  he  said  something,  I  don't  re- 
member to  this  day  what  it  was.  And  do  you 
know  how  I  fixed  him  ?  Squeezed  his  big  neck 
between  my  fingers.  And  I  never  let  go  till  he  fell 
from  me,  weakening — broke  his  neck,  I  guess,  but 
I  don't  know.  And  don't  care.  I  brushed  him 
from  me  tired-like,  to  find  myself  breathing  like  a 
man  just  come  through  a  quarter-mile  run.  And 
tired  ?  Oh,  terribly  tired !  And  so  I  guessed  I'd 
call  it  off,  and  went  over  by  the  door  and  reached 
my  hand  out  for  the  girl.  "Are  you  there?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh,  to  think  that  you're  alive!"  and  she 
reached  out  her  hand  for  mine.  "Is  it  all  over? 
And  what  you  must  have  gone  through !  Oh,  the 
blood — you're  bleeding — everywhere!  Oh,  if  the 
morning  were  only  here  so  I  could  be  of  use  to  you ! " 

139 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

"It  will  soon  be  here,"  I  said,  and  sure  enough, 
by  and  by  the  rays  of  light  came  through  the  slits 
up  near  the  roof.  Then  voices  outside  and  a 
step  at  the  door  and  the  signal  knock — three  times 
repeated.  I  answered  by  the  same  knock  I  had 
heard  them  giving  earlier  in  the  night. 

The  bar  outside  was  let  down,  the  door  turned, 
and  in  they  came.  It  was  Bowles  and  the  nigger 
Daiko.  I'd  drawn  the  girl  to  myself  to  one  side  of 
the  door,  and  when  they  came  in  they  did  not 
see  us.  It  was  so  dark  inside,  too,  and  sunrise 
outside. 

They  blinked  their  eyes  and  looked  and  looked, 
for  maybe  half  a  minute,  like  people  who  thought 
they  were  dreaming.  Daiko  even  rubbed  his  eyes 
as  if  to  wake  himself  up.  Then  he  turned  and 
saw  me,  and  seeing  me  he  gave  a  shriek,  fell  on 
the  floor  face  down,  and  lay  there.  Bowles  stood 
stiff,  so  stiff  that  I  went  up  to  him  and  took  his 
loaded  revolver  from  him. 

"Come,  I  said,  "show  me  the  way  back  to  the 
lagoon."  I  turned  to  the  girl.  "Mr.  Wilson  will 
be  waiting — no  fear — with  the  launch  and  take 
us  away." 

I  left  Daiko  where  he  was.  I  had  no  heart  to 
hurt  him.  I  had  killed  enough.  Bowles  walked 
ahead.  I  gave  the  revolver  to  the  girl,  while  I 
carried  a  war  club.    "If  anything  happens  to  me, 

140 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

if  anybody  jumps  out  of  the  bushes  on  the  way," 
I  said,  "you  will  have  the  revolver  to  defend 
yourself." 

When  we  reached  the  lagoon  the  ship's  launch 
was  still  waiting  on  the  opposite  bank.  One  of 
our  fellows  was  standing  by  her — on  watch,  no 
doubt,  for  me.  "Miss  Berg,"  I  said,  "all's  well 
at  last." 

"How  are  we  to  get  across?"  I  asked  Bowles, 
and  he  pointed  to  a  dugout  half  hidden  in  the 
bushes.  I  made  him  push  it  through  the  black 
sludge  to  the  water's  edge.  "And  now  if  you  will 
get  in,"  I  said  to  her.  She  reached  one  hand  to 
me  to  be  helped  in.  The  hand  with  the  revol- 
ver was  lowered  to  her  side,  the  side  away  from 
me.  My  mistake — to  forget  Bowles  even  for  a 
second. 

A  cry  from  her  and  something  like  a  dog's  bark 
from  Bowles,  a  report,  and  across  the  boat  she  fell. 
I  leaped  across  her  and  the  boat  and  whipped  the 
club  across  his  wrist,  maybe  broke  it — I  don't 
know — and  as  he  dropped  the  revolver  into  the 
soft  mud  I  grabbed  him  and  held  him  there, 
kicking  and  struggling  while  I  bent  over  her. 

"Are  you  hurt,  dear?"  I  asked. 

Never  an  answer,  and  I  called  to  her  again. 
"Stand  up,  you!"  I  said  to  Bowles,  and  took 
him  and  set  him  on  his  feet.    And  he  stood  there 

141 


Gree  Gree  Bush 

— as  well  as  he  could.  And  I  brought  the  war 
club  down — as  if  I  was  driving  a  stake.  He  went 
a  foot  deep  into  the  mud.  And  his  head  was 
spread  out  like  a  red  cauliflower. 


142 


THE  VENTURE    OF  THE 
"FLYING  HIND" 


The  Venture  of  the  "Flying 
Hind" 

1WAS  walking  up  Atlantic  Avenue,  in  Boston, 
one  day,  thinking  that  perhaps  I'd  had 
enough  of  fishing  for  a  while  and  wondering  what 
Td  do  next,  when*  along  came  Glaves,  and  he 
slaps  his  thigh,  and  says:  "Alec  Corning — just 
the  man.  What  d'  y'  say,  Alec,  to  a  little  cruise 
down  Newfoundland  way?" 

Now  Glaves  wasn't  the  man  to  go  hunting  you 
up  out  of  pure  love,  and  so  I  waited  for  more. 
Besides,  when  he  said  Newfoundland,  I  guessed 
what  was  at  bottom.  For  that  very  morning  I'd 
learned,  too,  that  Annie  Mann  had  gone  back  to 
visit  her  people;  but  Glaves,  being  what  he  was, 
I  said  nothing  of  that. 

"There's  a  man  named  Cruse,"  goes  on  Glaves, 
"and  he  wants  somebody  that  knows  the  New- 
foundland coast;  and  he'll  pay  you  well.  What 
d'  y'  say  ?  Maybe  a  bit  of  excitement  for  you  be- 
fore you  see  Boston  again.  And" — he  added  it 
almost  without  thinking — "Pinlock  left  for  there 
a  couple  of  days  ago." 

H5 


The  Venture  of  the  "  Flying  Hind  " 

That  word  of  Pinlock  settled  it.  Whatever  the 
business  it  didn't  matter  now.  Glaves  could 
easily  be  a  better  man,  but  Pinlock!  They  did 
not  make  them  any  meaner  than  Pinlock.  "Where 
will  I  find  Cruse  ?"  I  asks. 

So  he  brought  me  to  Cruse,  in  the  back  room 
of  a  shipping  office  on  Commercial  Street,  who 
sizes  me  up.  "Well,"  he  says,  "you  look  like 
the  man  I  want.  And  I  hear  there's  not  a  harbor 
between  Hatteras  and  the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle 
you  can't  take  a  vessel  in  of  out  of,  fair  or  foul, 
night  or  day.  What  d'  y'  say,  Mister  Corning, 
to  a  yachting  trip  to  Newfoundland  ?" 

"Maybe,"  I  says.  "Though  I  don't  know  as 
I'd  call  it  yachting." 

"Well,"  he  says,  "if  a  man  isn't  yachting,  what 
would  bring  him  there  ? " 

"Well,"  I  says,  "it's  a  good  place,  Newfound- 
land, for  a  fisherman  to  get  baiting." 

"All  right,"  he  says,  "let's  call  it  a  fishing  trip. 
But  will  you  come  ?  Glaves  is  all  right  in  his 
way,  but  he  needs  somebody  to  stiffen  him  up 
like." 

And  so  we  left  on  the  Flying  Hind,  a  fishing 
vessel  Cruse  had  got  at  a  bargain  that  spring.  I 
knew  the  Hind  well — a  fast  craft,  but  weak  built 
from  her  launching  day,  and  six  years  of  driving 
to  market  hadn't  made  her  any  stronger.     Her 

146 


The  Venture  of  the  "  Flying  Hind  " 

frames  sagged  like  the  ribs  of  an  old  umbrella,  and 
her  spars  buckled  like  a  cabman's  whip  when  we 
slapped  the  canvas  to  her  in  a  breeze.  But  no 
matter — she  could  sail,  and  with  Glaves  for  master 
and  me  one  of  the  crew,  we  swung  her  off  to  the 
eastward.  The  others  of  the  crew  were  scrubs 
picked  up  along  the  water  front,  except  an  old 
dory-mate  of  mine,  a  young  fellow  named  Gillis, 
careless  as  a  drifting  derelict  in  his  ways,  but 
game  to  his  very  shoestrings.  Him  I  took  to 
make  sure  there  was  one  man  would  be  standing 
by  if  anything  happened. 

We  put  into  St.  Pierre  on  our  way,  in  the  Mique- 
lon  Islands  off  the  Newfoundland  coast,  to  wait 
for  news  and  take  a  few  cases  of  brandy  for  emer- 
gencies. From  there  we  laid  into  a  little  place, 
Lowcliff,  to  the  eastward  of  St.  Johns,  where 
Annie  Mann's  people  lived,  and  where  was  Pin- 
lock's  vessel,  the  Polaris,  before  us.  Glaves 
couldn't  wait  till  we  were  fair  to  anchor  before  he 
was  on  his  way  ashore  to  see  Annie  Mann.  And 
Pinlock  to  the  house  before  him. 

We  put  in  a  week  at  this  place,  lying  around 
daytimes  and  going  to  dances  evenings,  and  I 
wondering  when  we  would  get  down  to  business; 
but  not  worrying  overmuch,  for  I  was  seeing  An- 
nie Mann  every  day.  And  neither  did  Gillis  care. 
"Fine,  buxom  girls  here  in  Lowcliff,"  Gillis  used 

147 


The  Venture  of  the  "  Flying  Hind  " 

to  say,  and  he'd  dance  all  night  with  a  younger 
sister  of  Annie's  if  she  would  but  let  him. 

Till  one  afternoon  Cruse  came  hurrying  aboard. 
"The  steamer  from  England's  into  St.  Johns. 
Stand  ready  to  put  out  any  minute  now."  Next 
day  a  little  packet  dropped  anchor  near  us,  and 
that  night  we  took  four  doryloads  of  Chinamen 
from  her,  forty  in  all,  and  the  Polaris  took  three 
doryloads  more.  And  we  crowded  'em  into  the 
hold  and  battened  the  hatches  on  'em.  With  the 
last  Chinaman  came  Cruse.  "Get  out  in  a  hurry 
now,"  says  he. 

It  was  a  bit  sudden,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to 
hear  Glaves  say:  "Just  another  day  here,  just 


one." 


"What  for?"  asks  Cruse. 

"  Just  one,  just  to-morrow,  and  to  make  sure  I'll 
be  back  let  Alec  come  along  with  me." 

So  we  went  ashore  in  the  morning,  up  to  Annie's 
father's  house.  She  came  to  the  door  herself,  and 
she  was  good  to  see — all  smiles  and  curves  and 
rosiness. 

"Will  you  wait?"  asks  Glaves.  "I've  a  mes- 
sage for  Annie."  Which  didn't  suit  me  quite, 
but  I  waited.  After  a  while  Annie  herself  called 
me  inside.  She  and  Glaves  were  standing  together 
in  the  entry.  "Is  it  true  the  Hind  is  going  to 
sea  to-night,  Alec?"  she  asks. 

148 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

"So  the  owner  says." 

"And  where  bound  ?" 

"He  didn't  say — if  indeed  he's  sure  where. 
But  somewhere  between  Eastport  and  Norfolk  I' 
guess  'twill  have  to  be." 

She  looked  at  me.  "Is  it  smuggling  out  of  St. 
Pierre?" 

I  had  to  laugh — at  the  thought  of  the  China- 
men being  mistaken  for  any  St.  Pierre  packages. 
But  before  I  could  answer  there  came  from  the 
steps  outside  the  scraping  of  a  man's  boots  and  a 
knock  at  the  door.  The  three  of  us  stepped  into 
the  front  room,  and  Glaves  was  trembling.  "Say 
you'll  marry  me,  Annie,"  he  says,  "and  we'll  go 
off  on  the  Hind  together." 

Annie's  younger  sister  that  Gillis  was  so  sweet 
on  came  into  the  room  then.  "It's  Captain  Pin- 
lock  wants  to  see  you,  Annie." 

"Tell  him,"  says  Annie,  "he  can't  see  me." 
That  was  a  pleasant  message  to  both  Glaves  and 
me.  We  heard  the  voice  of  Pinlock  swearing  at 
the  door.  "Tell  her  for  me,"  he  says,  "that  she'll 
be  sorry  for  this,  and  Corning  too,  and  whoever 
else  is  in  there  with  them,"  and  some  more  that 
was  less  polite. 

More  than  the  surprise  was  the  thrill  I  felt  at 
hearing  my  name  coupled  with  Annie's.  I  had  no 
notion  that  anybody  but  Glaves  was  thought  to 

149 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

have  a  chance  with  Annie  Mann.  I  was  dumb, 
but  Glaves  was  for  jumping  out  the  door.  Com- 
ing to  myself,  I  grabbed  him.  "A  lovely  bride- 
groom you'll  look,"  I  said,  "with  maybe  your  eyes 
blackened  and  your  nose  flattened."  That  by 
way  of  an  excuse,  for  I  doubted  he  was  as  good  as 
Pinlock;  also  I  did  not  want  to  see  any  brawling 
in  front  of  Annie's  door.  So  I  went  out  the  back 
door  and  overtook  Pinlock  on  the  dock,  and  I 
said  a  word  or  two  and  he  said  a  word  or  two, 
and  it  being  about  that  size  of  a  place  where 
there's  no  police  to  bother  we  had  a  great  chance 
to  try  tacks. 

Being  as  we  were,  of  the  one  tonnage,  with 
pretty  much  the  same  length  and  beam,  as  you 
might  say,  and  the  spars  and  quarters  to  carry  sail, 
it  ought  to  have  been  an  even  thing.  But  he 
couldn't  maneuver — a  bit  slow  to  answer  his  helm, 
and  maybe,  too,  I  could  bore  into  the  wind  closer 
than  he  could.  Anyway,  when  for  the  last  time 
he'd  hauled  his  wind  and  his  colors  with  it,  I  left 
him,  he  hailing  the  Polaris  and  I  going  back  to 
the  house.  I  hadn't  been  gone  more  than  fifteen 
minutes  altogether  and  Glaves  was  still  talking. 
"Marry  me,  Annie,  and  I'll  take  you  off  on  the 
Hind  to-night,"  I  heard  through  the  door. 

Annie  heard  my  steps.  "What  happened  ?"  she 
said. 

150 


The  Venture  of  the   "Flying  Hind" 

"Nothing  much,"  says  I.  "But  I  think  he'll 
be  putting  out  on  the  Polaris  soon,  and  if  there's 
going  to  be  any  wedding  somebody  '11  have  to 
hurry." 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  she  asked. 
"There's  going  to  be  no  wedding  here.  But  to- 
night I'm  leaving  St.  Johns  on  my  father's  vessel 
for  Boston." 

"And  I  will  see  you  there,  Annie?"  says 
Glaves. 

"Why,  of  course,  and  you  too,  Alec — that  is,  if 
you  want  to."  She  smiled  at  Glaves,  but  not  at 
me,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  I  wouldn't  call  in  a 
hurry. 

II 

It  was  nine  that  night  when  we  broke  out  our 
anchor.  We  should  have  gone  early  that  day, 
the  same  as  Pinlock,  but  Glaves  had  to  go  moon- 
ing around  Lowcliff  after  Annie  'd  gone  off,  hav- 
ing a  drink  here  and  a  drink  there.  While  we 
were  waiting  for  him  I,  being  handy  with  the  brush, 
painted  a  new  name  under  the  vessel's  stern,  the 
Zulieka.  I  hauled  a  canvas  over  me  while  I  was 
doing  it — told  the  crew  I  was  decorating  things. 
For  I'd  begun  to  foresee  the  need  of  a  change  of 
name,  and  Zulieka  was  the  most  unlikely  one  I 
could  think  of.    I  had  read  it  in  a  story  somewhere. 


The  Venture  of  the  "  Flying  Hind  " 

While  Glaves  lay  drunk  in  his  bunk  I  took  the 
vessel  out  of  Lowcliff  Harbor.  It  was  a  pitch- 
black  night,  and  only  by  the  noise  of  a  steamer's 
screw  did  we  know  that  something  was  coming  in. 
She  bore  no  lights  and  passed  us  in  a  hurry.  We 
had  no  lights  up  either. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Cruse. 

"What  could  it  be,"  I  says,  "coming  from  St. 
Johns  way  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  with  her  lights 
shrouded  and  at  full  speed?" 

Only  then  did  Cruse  suspect  it  was  the  govern- 
ment cutter.     "Pinlock's  doing?"  he  asked. 

I  said  yes,  and  was  sorry  I  had  not  beat  him 
up  so  that  he  would  've  been  thinking  of  going  to  a 
hospital  'stead  of  to  sea  that  day.  I  forgot  to  say 
that  we  wouldn't  have  left  the  harbor  that  night 
only  that  I  was  afraid  of  this  very  thing,  the  cut- 
ter. Cruse  had  wanted  to  wait  till  morning,  it 
looked  so  bad.  'Twas  a  gale  of  wind  and  getting 
worse,  and  the  Flying  Hind — the  Zulieka  now — 
a  weak-built  vessel,  as  I  said,  with  her  deck  crawl- 
ing under  your  feet.  It  was  a  hard  beat  out,  but 
at  last  I  shot  her  between  the  two  lights  of  the 
narrow  harbor  entrance. 

We  made  a  wild  night  of  it  before  morning. 
And  three  wilder  days  followed,  so  that  we  guessed 
there  was  some  damage  done  along  the  coast  that 
blow;    and  during  it  all,  fearing  stray  cutters,  I 

152 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

kept  her  well  offshore.  On  the  fourth  day  I 
swung  her  back  toward  the  course  of  traffic,  look- 
ing for  a  chance  to  run  over  Georges  Shoals  and 
so  on  to  Narragansett  Bay  and  Providence,  which 
was  one  place  Cruse  had  in  mind  to  land  his  pas- 
sengers. From  Providence  it  would  be  an  easy 
matter  to  get  the  Chinamen  to  Boston  by  train. 

But  that  afternoon  Gillis,  on  watch,  made  out 
a  sail.  We  were  pretty  wary  of  everything;  but 
I  soon  saw  we  hadn't  any  need  to  fear  this,  which 
was  a  wreck  with  only  one  mast  left  standing. 

Glaves  and  Cruse  were  not  over  eager  to  stand 
down  to  her — Glaves  especially.  Whatever  would 
the  Hind  do  with  more  passengers  ?  he  asked, 
and  what  talk  would  they  have  after  they  got 
ashore  ?  We'd  all  be  ruined.  Besides,  somebody 
else  would  surely  come  along  and  pick  them  up, 
and  so  on;  to  which  I  answered  that  it  wasn't 
yet  on  record  where  a  fisherman  passed  by  a 
wrecked  vessel  without  trying  to  take  her  people 
off,  and  so  now  I  was  going  to  stand  down  to  the 
vessel. 

Drawing  nearer,  we  could  see  she  had  been  a 
small  two-masted  schooner,  pretty  well  water- 
logged now,  a  coaster  by  the  look  of  her.  While 
yet  a  mile  away  I  could  name  her;  but  Glaves, 
though  he'd  seen  her  a  score  of  times,  and  his 
eyes  were  as  good  as  mine,  had  yet  no  suspicion, 

153 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

and  so  could  not  understand  why  I  was  so  eager 
as  we  drew  nearer  to  get  alongside  her.  "She 
may  be  sinking  under  their  feet,"  I  says,  and  I  was 
scared;  but  he  had  no  suspicion  till  we  were  so 
close  he  could  read  her  name. 

It  was  Annie's  father's  vessel,  and  with  him  on 
the  quarter  Annie  herself,  wrapped  in  her  father's 
great-coat  and  a  sou'wester  till  she  looked  like 
any  other  of  the  crew  at  a  distance.  It  was  Glaves 
who  bustled  around  and  gave  the  orders  then; 
but  Gillis  and  me  who  manned  the  dory,  and  it 
was  me  who  grasped  her  hand  and  first  looked 
into  her  eyes  again.  "M-m — but  I'm  glad  to  see 
you  again,"  she  breathed,  and  that  was  enough; 
though  later  'twas  Glaves  and  Cruse  who  got  all 
the  thanks  of  her  father,  and  right  enough  too, 
Cruse  being  the  owner  and  Glaves  hailing  for 
the  master  of  the  Hind. 

There  was  something  of  a  sea  and  lifting  fog 
that  afternoon.  Between  the  shifts  of  vapor  we 
could  see  a  steamer's  smoke  at  times,  but  were 
not  sure;  and  even  if  it  was  a  steamer,  I  would 
not  rush  Annie  into  a  dory  till  the  sea  moderated. 
It  was  one  thing  to  put  yourself  or  a  fisherman 
like  Gillis  in  a  dory,  but  another  to  risk  a  woman's 
life  in  one.  Not  for  two  hours  did  I  think  it  safe 
to  take  them  off.  And  then  it  was  in  two  dory- 
loads — Annie  and  her  father  the  last  to  leave  her. 

154 


The  Venture  of  the  "Flying  Hind" 

But  between  these  two  doryloads  the  steamer 
came  down  on  us.  She  knew  us  without  even 
trying  to  see  the  name,  which  I'd  kept  covered 
by  a  piece  of  canvas  hung  carelessly  over  her 
stern.  She  bore  up  and  hailed — told  us  to  stay 
where  we  were  till  morning,  when  she  would 
take  us  in  tow,  or  maybe  send  a  boat  aboard  if 
it  was  moderate  enough.  And  to  prevent  us  from 
slipping  away  during  the  night  we  were  to  come 
to  anchor  and  take  in  our  topsails  and  keep  our 
riding-light  burning  over  our  tafFrail  and  another 
to  our  foremast-head;  and  to  be  careful  to  keep 
them  burning  bright,  for  if  one  of  them  disap- 
peared for  even  a  second  they  would  take  it  as  a  sig- 
nal of  our  attempt  to  escape  and  fire  on  us  at  once. 

So  there  we  lay,  every  one  downcast  and  wait- 
ing for  the  morning,  and  it  was  me  who  caught 
it  while  Annie  and  her  father  were  forward  eating 
supper  for  lingering  so  long  on  the  wreck  of  the 
coaster.  I  let  them  talk  for  a  while,  and  then, 
looking  at  Glaves  particularly,  I  said:  "If  I  had 
to  do  it  all  over  I'd  do  just  the  same,  stay  just 
as  long  on  her,  and  so  would  you  all — or  be  no 
men,"  and  went  on  deck,  where  I  watched  the 
lights  of  the  cutter,  which  was  steaming  back  and 
forth  like  a  patrol  in  the  night.  And  watching 
her  and  thinking  of  what  was  next  day  before  us 
gave  me  an  idea,  and  I  went  into  the  hold,  helped 

155 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

myself  to  two  of  the  lanterns  which  were  used  to 
light  up  the  Chinamen's  quarters,  and  took  them 
into  the  cabin,  where  now  was  Annie  and  her 
father,  sitting  on  the  lockers,  she  with  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  asleep. 

"There's  been  more  or  less  complaining  of 
what's  gone  and  past  and  what  '11  happen  to  us  in 
the  morning.  Now  it  rests  with  ourselves  whether 
we'll  be  here  in  the  morning,"  I  said,  in  a  low 
voice  so  as  not  to  waken  Annie. 

They  couldn't  see  what  I'd  be  at.  Said  Glaves: 
"What!  you'd  have  the  cutter  lire  at  us  and  a 
woman  aboard?"  so  loud  that  if  Annie  wasn't 
deep  asleep  she'd  heard  him,  or  so  I  was  jealous 
enough  to  think.  "Oh,  belay  that!"  says  I,  and 
held  up  the  two  lanterns  and  lit  them,  and  cov- 
ered them  each  then  with  black  oil-jackets. 
"Now,"  I  said,  "have  a  man  stand  by  our  light 
aloft  and  another  by  the  lantern  astern,  while 
I'll  row  to  the  wreck  and  make  these  two  lanterns 
fast  on  her,  one  to  her  stern  and  one  to  her  mast- 
head, same  as  aboard  here,  but  covered  with  these 
jackets  till  the  time  comes.  And  you  watch  the 
cutter's  lights,  and  when  the  Hind's  in  line  with 
the  cutter  and  the  coaster,  then  do  you  aboard 
here  smash  both  lanterns  at  the  same  time,  and 
I'll  be  on  watch  on  the  wreck  and  snap  these 
oil-skins  off  the  lanterns  there,  so  the  cutter  won't 

i56 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

know  but  what  they're  the  same  all  the  time.  And 
then  we'll  slip  away  nice  and  cozy." 

Gillis  wanted  to  come  with  me  to  the  wreck,  but 
I  said  no,  and  Glaves  also  said  no.  Said  he'd 
need  a  good  man  like  Gillis  aboard  the  Hind  to 
tend  the  light  aloft.  So  I  left  the  Hind  alone  in 
the  dory  and  boarded  the  wreck,  which  lay  then 
with  her  rails  awash,  as  I  could  feel  in  climbing 
aboard.  I  mounted  the  shaky  fore-rigging  and 
tied  the  lantern  to  her  masthead,  making  fast  a 
length  of  halyard  to  the  oil-skin  cover  and  sliding 
down  then  to  the  deck,  where  I  hung  the  other 
covered  lantern  over  her  stern.  With  the  end  of  a 
line  in  each  hand  then  I  waited.  A  long  wait  it 
seemed,  for  the  water  on  her  deck  aft  was  then  to 
the  top  of  my  boots,  and  she  settling  lower  with 
every  roll. 

The  dory  I  had  hauled  up  under  her  stern, 
ready  to  hand  if  she  did  go  down,  and  by  the 
feel  of  her  I  knew  that  she  would  go  before  a  great 
while.  Slowly  the  cutter's  lights  swung  across 
the  stars.  My,  but  she  came  slow!  But  soon  they 
would  be  in  range.  And  now  the  stern  light  was 
in  range — and  now,  Whsh-h-t!  out  went  the 
Hind's  lights.  I  whipped  the  oil-jackets  away 
from  my  two  lights.  Below,  aloft,  they  flashed 
brightly  together,  and  into  the  dory  I  leaped  and 
pulled  madly  for  the  Hind.     In  the  blackness, 

*57 


The  Venture  of  the  "  Flying  Hind  " 

of  course,  I  couldn't  see  her,  but  I  knew  where 
she  had  been.  Besides,  the  cutter's  gliding  lights 
were  like  a  range  to  go  by. 

I  rowed  hard,  but  before  I  got  to  her  I  could 
hear  her  chain  slipping.  That  meant  I  was  not 
far  from  her.  Then  a  voice,  the  voice  of  Annie : 
"You  are  sure  Alec  is  aboard?"  And  Glaves's 
answer:  "Sure  of  it — one  of  the  men  just  told  me 
he  came  in  over  the  bow." 

"So  soon?"  she  exclaimed. 

I  guessed  something  then  and  drove  the  dory 
harder.  I  heard  the  jibing  of  muffled  booms  and 
knew  she  was  coming  around.  She  could  not  yet 
be  under  full  way,  but  she  was  coming  fast  enough 
to  make  me  hesitate.  However,  it  was  my  only 
chance,  and  I  laid  the  dory  directly  in  what  proved 
to  be  her  course.  Down  came  the  lifted  forefoot  of 
her  on  the  little  dory.  Down,  down,  I  was  borne 
under  water;  but  I  had  a  grip  on  her  bobstay, 
and  when  she  lifted  I  felt  for  the  stops  hanging 
from  her  bowsprit,  and  got  them  and  hauled 
myself  up.  With  every  leap  now  she  was  increas- 
ing her  speed,  and  by  the  time  I  was  over  her 
knight-heads,  safe  in  her  bow,  she  was  sifting  like 
a  snake  through  the  water. 

I  stayed' up  in  the  bow  to  get  my  breath,  and  as 
I  waited  I  saw  the  mast-head  light  on  the  coaster 
begin  to  swing  from  side  to  side.    While  she  was 

i58 


The  Venture  of  the   "Flying  Hind'7 

yet  swinging  the  taffrail  light  went  out  of  sight — 
p'ff,  like  that.  Came  a  hail  over  the  water  then, 
even  as  the  lantern  aloft  began  to  swing  yet  more 
widely.  Another  hail  and  almost  immediately  a 
flash  of  flame  as  long  as  our  foreboom.  Almost 
with  the  report  the  mast-head  light  dipped  with  a 
rush  into  the  sea.  Another  moment  and  a  broad- 
side lit  up  the  blackness.  The  roar  of  it  came 
down  the  wind  like  thunder. 

Crawling  up,  I  almost  stumbled  over  two  figures 
in  the  waist.  "But  is  he  aboard  ?"  said  the  voice 
of  one — Cruse. 

"Isn't  he?"  asked  the  other — Glaves. 

"  Don't  you  know  ? — he's  hardly  had  time," 
said  Cruse. 

"No,  he  isn't,  then,"  answered  Glaves.  "He 
can  lay  around  and  the  cutter  '11  get  him  in  the 
morning." 

"  But  suppose  the  cutter  doesn't  lay  around — or 
suppose  it  breezes  up  to-night?" 

"Then  to  hell  with  him — we  can't  be  laying 
around  here  till  we're  caught." 

I  heard  Annie's  voice  then,  and  crept  farther 
aft  and  stood  by  the  house,  not  ten  feet  from  her 
and  her  father.  "My  poor  vessel,"  said  Captain 
Mann. 

"Yes,  but  your  insurance  is  safe,"  answered 
Glaves.     He  had  moved  aft,  too. 

159 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

"It's  more  than  insurance — fifteen  good  years 
I  put  in  on  her,"  said  the  old  man.  "And  named 
for  Annie's  mother  that's  dead." 

Just  then  Gillis  came  from  somewhere  forward. 
I  could  tell  his  step  before  he  spoke.  "You  told 
me,  Captain  Glaves,  that  Alec  was  aboard  and 
below;    but  I  don't  find  him." 

"  What! "  Annie's  voice  and  the  tone  of  it  made 
my  heart  beat. 

"He's  in  the  cabin,"  answered  Glaves. 

"Oh-h — "  said  Annie.  And  after  a  pause: 
"  But  why  isn't  he  up  to  see  this  ?  I'll  call  him," 
and  went  below.  Glaves  followed.  Gillis  jumped 
down  after  Glaves.  I  leaned  over  the  house  and 
looked  down  the  cabin  steps. 

"And  you  said  his  dory  was  towing  alongside, 
but  it's  not — nor  on  deck.  There's  but  one  dory 
on  deck.  Where  is  he  ?"  Gillis  stepped  into  the 
cabin  light.  "Alec  Corning  and  me  were  dory- 
mates  too  long — look  here,  Glaves!" 

What  Gillis  would  have  done  I  don't  know — I 
dropped  below  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm,  but 
looking  at  Annie  at  the  time,  and  she  looking  at 
me.  The  fright  left  her  face,  and  to  see  that  made 
me  so  glad  that  I  couldn't  be  mad  even  with  Glaves. 

"Maybe  I'd  better  look  to  the  vessel's  course," 
I  said  after  a  little  while.  "Come,  Archie,  come 
on  deck." 

1 60 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

III 

I  gave  her  all  the  sail  we  had,  and  all  that  night 
kept  her  going.  By  daylight  we  were  many  miles 
from  where  we'd  left  the  cutter.  But  even  so  I 
drove  her.  It  was  a  gale  of  wind  and  a  milk- 
white  sea,  but  still  I  drove  her,  and  kept  driving 
her  till  it  got  so  bad  below  that  the  Chinamen 
came  running  on  deck  like  rats.  You  could  tell 
how  much  water  was  in  her  hold  by  measuring 
how  high  up  their  trousers,  or  whatever  it  is  they 
wear  for  trousers,  were  wet.  To  their  knees  some 
of  them. 

And  still  I  drove  her,  being  in  that  mood,  and  I 
think  I'd  have  driven  her  to  some  port  or  other 
in  that  breeze  only  she  carried  away  her  main-mast 
head.  It  was  a  gale  of  wind  and  a  milk-white  sea, 
as  I  said,  and  something  had  to  go. 

I  had  to  take  the  main-sail  off  her  then,  and 
maybe  with  a  young  woman  that  two  of  us  wanted 
for  a  wife  aboard,  she  had  sail  enough  without 
the  main-sail  in  that  breeze.  And  so  long  as  we 
were  stopping  to  put  things  to  rights,  I  set  the 
Chinamen  to  work,  one  gang  with  draw-buckets 
bailing  out  the  hold  and  another  gang  to  the 
pumps.  One  of  them,  who  could  speak  a  few 
words  of  English,  just  as  much  as  said  that  it  was 
pretty  hard  to  have  to  pay  two  hundred  and  eighty 

161 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

dollars  a  head  and  work  your  passage  too.  I 
thought  so  too,  but  told  him  that  if  he  didn't  keep 
on  bailing  it  soon  wouldn't  matter  how  much  he'd 
paid  for  his  passage.  I  didn't  need  to  say  any  more. 
The  English-talking  one  passed  the  word,  and 
they  all  grabbed  buckets  and  pump-brakes  again. 

It  was  gales,  fog,  and  stiff  winds  for  another 
two  days,  and  we  wondering  where  the  Polaris 
and  the  cutter  were  all  this  time,  when  out  of  the 
fresh-coming  easterly  a  sail  came  tearing.  And 
soon  we  knew  her  for  Pinlock's  vessel,  and  behind 
her,  just  showing  over  the  horizon,  was  the  smoke 
of  a  steamer.  It  was  plain  it  was  a  chase,  which 
would  make  the  steamer  a  government  vessel. 
That  meant  it  was  no  place  for  us,  and  so  again 
I  put  the  main-sail  to  the  Hind  and  let  her  go 
straight  before  it. 

The  course  of  the  Polaris  when  she  first  raised 
would  've  carried  her  two  or  three  miles  to  the 
east'ard  of  us;  but  now  she  swung  off  and  came 
straight  for  us,  so  that  by  the  time  we  had  sail 
on  the  Hind  the  Polaris  was  perhaps  a  mile  ahead 
and  going  at  a  great  clip  to  the  west'ard. 

'Twas  plenty  wind,  so  much  wind  that  I  doubted 
our  twisted  mast-head  could  stand  the  strain  of 
the  main-sail;  but  it  was  not  a  case  for  doubting — 
I  had  to  make  sure.  I  knew  that  so  long  as  noth- 
ing parted   we   could   outsail   the   Polaris.     And 

162 


d 

<u 
3 

o 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

shortly  we  began  to  see  that  we  had  gained,  and 
soon  were  closing  in  and  before  long  would  have 
had  her  safe.  Only  just  then  they  slung  a  dory 
to  the  rail,  put  a  couple  of  their  Chinamen  into 
it,  and  tossed  it  over.  But  hardly  over — 'twas  a 
good  sea  on,  I  forgot  to  say — before  it  capsized. 

Annie  Mann,  a  proper  Newfoundland  girl,  never 
one  to  mind  rough  weather,  was  on  deck  to  see  the 
excitement;  but  she  hadn't  counted  on  this  kind 
of  work.  She  screamed  to  see  those  poor  fellows 
hanging  to  the  bottom  of  that  dory  in  that  sea. 

"Never  mind,"  says  Cruse — "the  cutter  '11  get 
'em."    And,  turning  to  me:  "Won't  they,  Alec?" 

I  doubted  she  could,  even  if  she  was  on  the 
spot — no  rough-water  sailormen  their  crews — and 
she  was  surely  too  far  away.  And  in  that  sea  they 
couldn't  hang  on  very  long. 

'Twas  a  rain  of  tears  on  Annie's  face;  and 
when  with  that  our  English-speaking  Chinaman 
pointed  to  the  dory,  then  to  one  of  our  Chinamen, 
and  said:  "Brother,"  and  every  Chink  of  'em 
looked  at  me,  I  began  to  wet  my  lips. 

Annie  went  up  to  Glaves.  "You're  master  of 
this  vessel,"  she  said — "couldn't  you  go  close  and 
throw  them  a  line?" 

"  H-m — I  don't  seem  to  be  the  master  for  the  last 
two  or  three  days,"  he  sneers.  She  looked  to 
Cruse.    "Well,  at  least  you're  the  owner." 

l63 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

"But  not  the  owner  of  those  Chinamen,"  an- 
swers Cruse.  "Why  should  I  give  up  my  liberty 
for  rivals  of  mine  ?  They're  Pinlock's  passengers, 
not  mine."  From  Cruse  she  turned  to  me,  only 
to  me  she  said  no  word.  I  couldn't  bear  her  eyes. 
"All  right,"  I  said  to  her,  but  to  myself:  "It's 
jail  for  all  hands,"  and,  pushing  Glaves  from  the 
wheel,  I  let  her  wear  around.  It  was  taking  a 
long  chance,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  do. 
And  then  what  we  all  had  feared  happened. 
Away  went  our  main-mast  over  the  side. 

"Now  we  re  gone  as  well  as  the  Chinks,"  said 
Cruse,  and  we  all  waited  for  the  cutter  to  steam 
up  and  get  us. 

The  Chinamen  kept  drifting  away.  They 
couldn't  last  much  longer,  that  was  certain,  with 
every  heave  of  the  sea  tossing  them  high.  Annie 
broke  down  again.  And  I  couldn't  stand  that 
either.  "Archie,"  I  says  to  Gillis,  "help  me  heave 
the  dory  over." 

"No,  no,"  cries  Annie,  "I  didn't  mean  that." 
But  I  pays  no  attention  to  her — it  'd  gone  past  her 
now — only  watches  my  chance  to  jump  in. 

"No,  no,  no,"  cries  Annie  again.  "You  can't 
get  them — no  dory  can  live  out  there.  Don't 
make  a  worse  tragedy  of  it."  And  she,  being  New- 
foundland-born and  a  sailor's  daughter,  knew 
what  a  dory  could  and  could  not  do.     I  pushed 

164 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

her  hands  from  my  arm  and  leaps  into  the  dory; 
and  who  jumps  in  after  me  but  Gillis,  and  I  mind, 
as  we  shoved  the  dory  clear,  saying  to  Gillis: 
"You're  certainly  a  damn  fool,  Archie." 

"Maybe  so,"  answers  Gillis,  "but  I'm  your 
dory-mate  too,  Alec,  and  that  means  for  rough 
as  well  as  fine  weather.  Maybe,  too,  Alec,  she 
won't  forget  me  writing  home  to  her  young  sister 
for  this,"  says  Archie.  And  what  more  could  I 
say? 

The  capsized  dory  was  up  to  wind'ard  of  us. 
We  worked  up  to  wind'ard  of  her,  and,  getting 
near,  hove  a  line  to  them,  making  signs  for  one  of 
them  to  take  hold  and  jump  toward  us,  which  one 
did  at  last,  and  I  hauled  him  under  our  stern, 
Gillis,  to  the  oars,  watching  the  bad  seas  to  keep 
her  head  to  them.  A  careless  move  on  his  part 
and  our  dory  would  go  over  too.  But  a  strong 
lad,  Gillis.  He  held  her  true,  and  I  took  a  try 
at  my  Chinaman,  who  was  pretty  well  worn  out 
and  weighed  a  ton,  I  thought,  in  his  wet,  woman- 
like clothes.  With  one  hand  braced  in  the  becket, 
with  the  other  I  reached  over  and  heaved  high, 
watching  the  sea  to  help,  and  in  he  came  and  lay 
like  a  big  fish  in  the  bottom  of  the  dory. 

"A  good  job  you  did  then,  Archie.  Now  once 
more,"  and  tossed  the  line  to  the  other  lad.  He 
hesitated — hadn't  the  nerve  of  the  first  one.     I 

i65 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

had  to  yell  encouragement  to  him,  and  the  China- 
men from  the  deck  of  our  vessel  began  to  call  to 
him,  too.  I  did  more  than  encourage  him — I 
threatened  him  as  I  again  hove  the  line,  which 
this  time  he  grabbed,  but  could  not  seem  to  trust 
his  life  to.  He  sawed  there  while  up  and  down  the 
seas  were  lifting  him,  one  hand  in  the  plug-strap 
of  his  dory,  the  other  in  the  bight  of  his  life-line. 
Again  I  yelled — every  second  of  waiting  was  a 
second  of  taking  chances — and  again  came  the 
chorus  of  his  countrymen  from  the  Hind's  deck. 
So  that  finally  he  gathered  himself  and  leaped, 
and  I  hauled  him  under  my  dory's  stern,  and  was 
reaching  down  for  him,  had  even  got  his  hand, 
when  just  then  he  let  go  the  becket,  which  I  had 
also  given  him,  and  his  weight  came  dead  on  me 
just  as  I  heard  a  great  yell. 

I  could  feel  it  coming,  and  braced.  But  I  had 
to  hang  onto  my  Chinaman,  too,  and  the  big  sea 
overbore  me.  When  I  came  up  I  saw  Gillis  well 
away  from  me,  striving  like  a  hero,  one  of  his 
oars  broken  and  the  dory  filled  to  the  gunnels. 
But  with  his  one  oar  astern  he  had  yet  a  chance 
to  steer  her  to  the  vessel. 

I  was  probably  a  hundred  feet  astern  of  the 
vessel  then,  and  drifting  by.  I  figured  that  I  had 
hauled  my  last  trawl.  And  probably  I  had,  with 
that  almost  dead  Chinaman  on  my  hands  and  the 

166 


M 


o 


The  Venture  of  the  "  Flying  Hind  " 

cutter  two  miles  away,  when  I  noticed  a  broken 
spar — 'twas  our  broken  main-top,  still  attached 
to  the  big  spar  by  the  halyards  and  stays,  but 
drifting  well  away  from  the  vessel.  It  was  no 
time  for  too  much  reflecting.  I  let  go  the  hand 
of  the  almost  lifeless  Chinaman,  and,  grabbing 
his  cue,  kicked  off  my  boots,  threw  myself  on  my 
back,  and  kicked  out  for  the  loose  spar. 

And  made  it,  and  was  about  to  straddle  it  for  a 
moment's  clear  breathing  before  hauling  myself 
up  on  it,  when  the  Chinaman,  getting  me  in  a 
despairing  grip,  pulled  me  back  into  the  sea. 
The  tide  carried  me  away,  my  strength  was  gone 
— and  I  never  so  near  the  vessel.  I  said  to  myself: 
"Well,  Alec,  you're  gone  now,  sure,"  and  came 
up  with  only  the  hope  of  another  look  around  to 
the  vessel,  to  Annie,  before  I  should  go. 

I  heard  my  name  called,  and  saw  her,  held  on 
the  taffrail  by  her  old  father  and  swinging  a  lead 
around  her  head — a  strong,  hearty  girl  she,  but 
no  Amazon.  One,  two,  three  times,  and  it  came 
— almost  hit  me,  but  not  quite — and,  still  hang- 
ing to  my  Chinaman  by  his  cue,  I  was  hauled 
alongside  and  aboard.  Gillis  was  there  before 
me — all  gone;  and  I  had  to  lie  across  the  house 
before  I  could  stand  up. 

However,  we  were  all  safe  aboard,  and  the  dan- 
ger of  it  was  forgot,  when  I  saw  the  trembling 

167 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

smile  on  Annie's  lips  and  the  look  in  her  wet  eyes 
— it  was  not  the  salt  spray  alone  that  wet  them. 
And  for  the  look  in  those  eyes,  had  we  been  alone, 
Td  have  kissed  her  standing. 

"You  saved  my  life  this  day,"  I  said. 

"It's  a  man  you  are,"  she  whispered,  and  to 
have  it  said  to  me  again  in  just  that  way  I'd  wish 
the  sea  alive  with  capsized  Chinamen,  so  I  could 
go  out  and  get  them  all. 

And  the  Chinaman  whose  brother  we  picked 
up  knelt  down,  and,  with  the  brother,  kept  bump- 
ing his  head  as  well  as  he  could  to  the  tumbling 
deck  till  Glaves  picked  'em  up  by  their  cues — 
"Yah-h — "  and  tossed  them  into  the  waist. 
"You'd  think  it  was  a  miracle  happened!"  he 
sneered. 

"And  so  it  was,"  I  said.  "A  miracle  that  a 
girl  ever  threw  a  deep-sea  lead  that  far." 

IV 

Well,  the  cutter  steamed  up,  but  not  to  take 
us  then.  "Well  done!"  says  a  chap  with  a  mega- 
phone. "But  we'll  have  to  take  you  into  custody, 
nevertheless.  We'll  come  back  for  you  when  we 
get  the  other  fellow,"  and  she  tore  on.  She  wasn't 
the  cutter  we'd  escaped  from,  but  one  of  our  own, 
the  Sierra. 

168 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

Away  she  went.  And  Cruse  looked  the  saddest 
man  you  ever  saw.  But  I  couldn't  see  why.  Per- 
haps nothing  could  look  sad  to  me  then,  not  with 
Annie  standing  by.  I  happened  to  think  that  with 
the  mainsail  falling  over  our  stern  they  couldn't 
have  seen  our  new  name,  that  when  she  came 
back  she'd  be  still  hunting  for  the  schooner  Flying 
Hind.  So  with  the  crew  and  those  Chinamen 
to  help,  I  got  to  work,  and  if  ever  you  saw  China- 
men turn  to  it  was  those  chaps.  We'd  give  them 
the  end  of  a  line  and  motion  them  to  haul,  and 
they'd  had  things  up  by  the  roots  if  we  didn't 
check  'em. 

I  had  the  wreckage  of  the  main-mast  cleared 
away  and  rigged  the  main-sail  to  the  foremast, 
making  a  sloop  of  her,  and  once  we  got  under  way 
again  we  stood  off  to  the  no'the'ard,  and  next 
morning  headed  her  to  the  west'ard.  She  made 
out  pretty  well.  And  with  the  Chinamen  sky- 
larking around  deck  when  'twas  fine  and  ducking 
below  when  it  was  wet  or  we  sighted  a  sail,  it 
wasn't  half-bad  at  all.  Well-behaved,  cooking 
their  own  rice,  and  clean  as  could  be,  those  China- 
men. Only  they  did  leave  an  awful  smell  of 
opium  floating  around  below. 

We  crossed  the  Bay  of  Fundy  by  day,  and  com- 
ing into  Massachusetts  Bay  at  night  with  a  good 
breeze  stirring,  we  ought  to  've  been  able  to  run 

169 


The  Venture  of  the  "  Flying  Hind  " 

somewhere  between  Boston  and  Gloucester  before 
next  daylight.  Cruse  thought  Marblehead  would 
be  a  good  place,  because  from  there  he  could  get 
his  Chinamen  by  trolley  to  Boston.  So  for  there 
I  headed  her,  and  all  would  've  gone  well,  only  the 
breeze  died  out  and  it  was  broad  light  when  we 
drifted  into  Marblehead  Harbor.  And  what  was 
going  on  there  but  a  yacht-race  among  a  lot  of 
dinky  little  jib  and  main-sail  boats  about  as  long 
as  a  banker's  dory.  No  more  freeboard  than  a 
two-inch  plank,  and  sailing  for  the  Emperor's 
Cup  they  were.  And  who  was  superintending 
operations  but  our  cutter,  the  Sierra.  A  nice 
pocket  we'd  got  into,  but  nothing  to  do  but  keep 
on,  for  Lord  knows  how  many  glasses  were  on  us. 
Well,  we  drifted  through  'em,  a  hundred  or  two  of 
all  kinds  of  yachts  and  excursion  boats  floating 
round  to  see  the  race;  and  with  our  busted  gurry- 
kids — our  deck  'd  been  swept  clean  in  the  storm — 
a  few  took  notice  of  us,  and  to  two  or  three  we 
couldn't  dodge  I  told  a  story  of  how  it  happened. 
It  was  more  than  we  counted  on,  all  that  at- 
tention; but  we  had  to  keep  on,  and  we  came 
to  anchor,  industriously  watching  the  race,  with 
the  Chinamen  battened  below,  and  all  hands 
waiting  for  night-time. 

Cruse  went  ashore  during  the  day  to  arrange 
for  getting  the  Chinamen  to  Boston,  but  nobody 

170 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

else  would  I  allow  to  leave  the  ship.  Annie  I 
didn't  dare  let  be  seen  on  deck  at  all.  But  Glaves 
slipped  me.  He'd  been  glowering  since  the  night 
of  the  escape  from  the  wreck  and  ugly  as  a  shark 
since  the  rescue  of  the  Chinamen,  and  now  when  I 
was  below  for  a  minute's  talk  with  Annie  he  hailed 
a  shore-boat,  and  before  I  could  get  to  him  he 
was  gone.  "Well,  maybe  it  was  just  as  well.  A 
good  riddance,"  I  thought. 

But  not  so  Annie.  "Quick!"  she  said.  "Send 
Archie  after  him  to  see  what  he's  up  to!"  and 
Gillis  jumped  into  the  dory  and  rowed  ashore. 
In  two  hours  he  was  back.  "Do  you  know  what 
he  did,  the  flat-faced  skate!"  burst  out  Gillis. 
"I  trails  him  to  a  telephone  place,  and  me  not 
thinking  overmuch  of  it  let  him  talk.  Till  all  at 
once  it  comes  over  me  and  I  jumps  in  and  hauls 
him  out  by  the  ear,  but  before  I  could  stop  him 
he'd  got  out:  'The  boat  you  want,  the  Flying 
Hind,  I  say,  is  now  in  Marblehead  Harbor,'  like 
he  was  repeating  something  he'd  already  said 
once." 

"A  lucky  thing,"  thinks  I,  "he  wasn't  aboard 
when  I  painted  on  that  new  name  in  LowclifF 
Harbor.     But  go  on,  Archie — what  then  ?" 

"Well,  I  was  mad  enough,  but  I  didn't  let 
on  how  mad  till  I  got  him  where  nobody  could 
interfere,  out  of  town  about  a  mile,  and  then  I 

I7i 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

larruped  him.  When  I  left  him  he  was  there  to 
stay  for  a  while,  and  I'll  bet  he  won't  be  telling 
any  police,  because  look  here" — and  Gillis  held 
up  a  bundle  of  newspapers — "I  took  these  from 
him.  Must  've  been  those  gave  him  the  telephon- 
ing notion.,, 

When  we  opened  up  the  newspapers  we  were 
surely  amazed.  There  was  a  picture  of  the  Hind, 
and  the  Polaris,  and  pictures  of  Glaves  and  Pin- 
lock,  and  of  the  Newfoundland  cutter  we'd  es- 
caped from,  and  two  of  our  revenue-cutters — all 
after  us — and  how  Pinlock  had  sent  word  to  St. 
Johns  about  us,  and  column  after  column  of  our 
leaving  Newfoundland  in  the  gale,  and  all  about 
Pinlock  putting  into  St.  Pierre  to  escape  the  storm, 
and  how  he  got  drunk  there  and  talked  too  much, 
and  his  having  to  hurry  out,  and  the  word  passed 
along,  and  not  a  government  vessel  on  the  North 
Atlantic  coast  but  what  was  on  the  watch  for 
the  pair  of  us. 

"Whew!"  I  says,  "and  just  when  I  was  think- 
ing our  troubles  were  over,"  and  goes  up  and 
hauls  our  staysail  over  the  butt  of  the  main-mast — 
it  had  been  sawed  off  close  to  the  deck.  Then, 
praying  for  an  early  dark,  we  waited. 

When  the  racing  was  ever,  who  should  come  in 
and  anchor  handy  to  us  but  our  government 
cutter!      Nothing  happened  for  a  while,  but  by 

172 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

and  by  I  could  see  them  getting  up  steam  on 
her  launch,  which  made  me  guess  something. 
" Quick !"  I  calls  out — "all  hands  tumble  into  a 
bunk  and  give  a  good  imitation  of  men  just  off  a 
forty-eight  hours'  watch!  Let  nobody  talk  but 
me.  And  you,  Annie,  you'll  have  to  tuck  away, 
too,  in  the  lazaretto  under  the  overhang." 

They  all  got  under  cover  in  a  hurry,  and  I  made 
sure  the  Chinks  were  tight  below,  too,  when  along- 
side comes  the  cutter's  little  launch.  An  officer, 
a  decent-looking  chap — the  same  who'd  mega- 
phoned to  us  after  he'd  passed  on  after  the  Po- 
laris— rises  out  of  her  stern-sheets,  and,  though  I 
didn't  invite  him,  he  comes  aboard.  Seeing  him 
aboard,  I  couldn't  but  invite  him  into  the  cabin. 
But  before  going  below  he  takes  a  look  at  our 
busted  gurry-kids. 

"Looks  as  if  you  been  having  a  hard  time.,, 

"Yes,"  I  says.  "On  our  way  to  the  fishing- 
grounds,  but  got  caught  off  Cape  Cod  night  be- 
fore last,  crew  short-handed,  and  swept  everything 
off  except  that  one  dory  you  see  there." 

"So  I  heard,"  he  says.  "Well,  what  brings  me 
aboard  is  that  the  old  man — our  captain — is  look- 
ing for  information  of  a  schooner-rigged  fisherman 
we  passed  twenty  miles  east-south-east  of  Cape 
Cod  three  days  ago.  I  guess  you'd  know  her  all 
right  if  you'd  seen  her — main-mast  carried  away." 


The  Venture  of  the   "Flying  Hind" 

"Three  days  ago,"  1  repeats.  "Let  me  see. 
Three  days  ago  we  weren't  far  from  there.  Don't 
dare  go  too  far  offshore  in  this  old  packet.  But 
what  about  her  ?" 

"Smuggling.  But  perhaps  you  haven't  heard 
yet  about  these  people  trying  to  smuggle  the  China- 
men in  ?" 

"Oh,  them!  Indeed  I  did.  One  of  the  yachts 
we  passed  in  the  harbor  this  morning  hove  us  the 
papers  that  had  all  about  it.  What  d'  y'  think  ? 
Think  you'll  get  'em  ?" 

"  I  don't  know."  He  strokes  his  chin  and  looks 
down  at  his  feet.  "But  a  while  ago  we  got  a 
message  from  Boston  saying  that  that  vessel,  the 
Flying  Hind,  was  now  in  this  harbor.  The  party 
didn't  say  who  told  him,  but  somebody  must  've 
been  joking  him  in  Boston,  for  I  don't  see  any 
fishing  schooner  here.  Or  anything  at  all,  for 
that  matter,  bearing  the  name  Flying  Hind." 

"But  you  have  to  look  around  just  the  same, 
I  s'pose?" 

"That's  it.  Look  around — and  ask  questions. 
And  if" — he  looked  up  at  the  skylight — "if  I  do 
see  anything  answering  her  description  I'll  have  to 
do  my  duty,  though  I'm  not  over-crazy  to  get  'em. 
Why  ?  Well,  there  were  two  of  that  smuggler's 
crew  put  off  in  a  dory  in  a  big  wind  and  high  sea 
— a  spar-colored  dory  with  red  gunnels,  same  as 

174 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

that  you've  got  on  deck,  I  remember.  And  to 
put  off  and  get  those  Chinamen  as  they  did,  'twas 
a  fine  thing.  And  for  that,  more  than  any  other 
reason,  we  passed  him  by  and  kept  after  the  other 
chap.  If  I  had  my  way,  they'd  get  medals  of  honor, 
those  two  chaps  that  manned  the  dory,  even  if  I 
had  to  send  them  to  jail  the  next  minute." 

"Oh-h,"  I  says,  "probably  a  couple  of  fisher- 
men, winter  trawlers  maybe,  and  it's  pie  for  them 
to  handle  a  dory  in  a  little  sea.  But  that's  for  one 
of  them.  What  became  of  the  other  chap  you 
were  chasing  ? " 

"Oh,  we  got  him.  Damn  him,  yes.  Probably 
the  papers  '11  get  hold  of  that  soon.  Kept  after 
her  till  we  crowded  her  ashore  on  Cape  Cod. 
Her  captain  started  to  go  through  the  surf  in  his 
dory,  but  a  few  well-placed  one-pounders  headed 
him  back.  Took  them  up  to  Boston  yesterday. 
Be  sure  he  '11  go  to  jail.  A  sight  of  difference  be- 
tween these  two" — he  looked  at  me  again — "the 
chap  that  turned  those  Chinamen  adrift  and  the 
chaps  that  picked  them  up.  Maybe  a  lucky 
thing,  too,  for  the  Flying  Hind,  their  stopping 
to  pick  the  Chinamen  up,  but  how  they  got  far  in 
their  dismasted  condition  I  don't  see.  And  yet 
they  might  get  away  at  that.  Only  I'm  half  hop- 
ing he  don't  drag  in  around  here,"  he  goes  on; 
"because  to-morrow  the  Alleghany  will  be  taking 

175 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

our  place,  and  she's  got  a  commander  who'd 
put  his  own  father  in  jail  if  he  broke  the  law." 
He  was  a  decent-looking  young  fellow,  as  I  said, 
and  he  looks  casually  at  me  then. 

"Well,  I  s'pose  he'd  be  right,  too,  the  Allegha- 
nys  captain,"  I  says;  "and  yet,  I  don't  know, 
sometimes  these  fellows  aren't  the  worst  in  the 
world.  No  telling  what  might  be  driving  an  hon- 
est man  to  make  a  cruise  of  that  kind." 

"H-m — what,  for  instance  ?"   he  asks. 

"M-m — I  could  rig  up  a  good  story  about  that. 
Suppose  now  a  fellow  was  in  love  with  a  girl  and 
he  wanted  to  keep  an  eye  on  a  couple  of  other 
fellows  who  were  courting  the  same  girl,  and  nei- 
ther of  them  much  good  ?" 

"But  what's  that  got  to  do  with —  But  hold 
up,  there  was  a  girl  on  the  Flying  Hind.  But 
how  did  you  know?" 

"One  of  the  papers  had  it." 

"  So  ?    Well,  we  never  told  any  reporter  that." 

"No?  Then  it  must  've  been  a  despatch  from 
the  Newfoundland  cutter/' 

"M-m — maybe  so.  But  what  paper  was  it? 
Say,  that's  interesting,  too!  But  let  me  see  that 
paper!" 

"Let  me  see,"  I  said;  but  what  I  was  seeing 
was  Annie's  eyes  to  the  slit  in  the  lazaretto  slide. 
They  were  shining.    "Let  me  see,"  said  I.     And, 

176 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

pretending  to  paw  over  the  papers,  "But  maybe 
you'll  have  a  drink  while  I'm  looking  them  over  ?" 

"M-m— I  don't  know  but  I  will!" 

From  the  locker  in  the  state-room  I  hauls  out 
a  quart  of  that  four-star  brandy,  draws  the  cork, 
and  passes  the  bottle  over  to  him.  He  looks 
curiously  at  the  label.  "That's  funny  now," 
he  says.  "In  the  Polaris  we  found  two  dozen 
cases  of  this  stuff,  under  her  cabin.  I  s'pose  it's 
cheap  in  St.  Pierre?" 

"So  I  hear,"  I  says.  "Once  in  a  while  some 
of  our  fellows  on  their  way  home  from  a  salt-fish- 
ing trip  puts  in  there  and  brings  along  a  case  now 
and  then,  and  maybe  passes  a  spare  bottle  down 
the  line  same  as  this." 

"So?"  says  the  officer.  "Well,  here's  your 
good  health;  and  if  ever  you  happen  to  run  across 
those  two  men  who  put  out  in  that  dory  I  wish 
you'd  give  them  my  compliments,  and  say  for  me 
it  was  a  fine  bit  of  work.  As  I  said,  I'd  tell  'em 
that  if  'twas  in  open  court  and  I  giving  evidence 
against  them;  and,  of  course,  I'd  have  to  give 
evidence  against  them  if  they're  caught,  for  it's 
getting  to  be  a  bad  business,  this  smuggling  of 
Chinamen  by  way  of  Newfoundland.  We  stopped 
a  lot  of  it  by  way  of  Puget  Sound,  on  the  Pacific, 
and  now  they're  shipping  'em  by  way  of  the 
Continent  and   England — through  the  provinces 

*77 


The  Venture  of  the   "Flying  Hind" 

and  Newfoundland.  There's  a  society,  we've  been 
told,  that  gets  big  money — a  thousand  dollars 
a  head,  it's  said,  for  every  Chinaman  they  can 
land  in  this  country.  And  we  got  to  stop  it. 
And  it  seems  too  bad  to  see  good  men  in  that  bus- 
iness, the  kind  of  men  that  ought  to  be  with  the 
law  instead  of  against  it.  But  what's  that  ?"  He 
was  sniffing  the  air  like  a  game  dog. 


I  well  knew  what  it  was,  but  being  used  to  it, 
I'd  forgotten  all  about  it.  And  sitting  with  my 
chair  against  the  bulkhead  of  the  after-hold,  I 
could  almost  hear  them  breathing  hard  against 
me;  and  I  knew  they  had  their  eyes  to  any  stray 
crack  to  get  a  peek  at  the  officer  in  uniform,  and 
to  ease  the  strain,  no  doubt,  one  or  two  of  them 
had  to  light  up  their  little  pills.  I  took  quite  a 
while  to  finish  my  drink,  not  even  opening  my  eyes 
over  the  top  of  the  glass  till  I'd  got  it  right. 

"It's  the  sulphur  we  burned  trip  before  last," 
I  said  at  last.  "Once  every  year  we  fishermen 
seal  up  everything  below  and  burn  sulphur  to 
fumigate  her,  to  kill  any  stray  rats  and  so  on." 
Even  as  I  spoke  I  could  see  Annie  over  his  shoul- 
der, her  head  and  shoulders  out  of  the  lazaretto, 
and   her   scared  eyes  on   mine.     "Yes,"   I   said, 

i78 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

"it's  the  old  sulphur  still  smelling.  Takes  two 
or  three  weeks  to  sea  sometimes  to  clear  it  out." 

"Oh,  that's  it?"  he  says.  "I'm  glad  to  hear 
that,"  and  after  another  drink  goes  up  on  deck 
and  into  his  launch.  Only  as  he  was  about  to  step 
over  the  rail,  taking  another  look  around,  he  says: 
"Got  her  mast  stepped  pretty  well  forward,  hasn't 
she,  for  a  sloop  rig?" 

"She's  one  of  those  Zanzibar  models,"  I  says, 
quick,  too  quick;  for  I  doubt  if  I  could  've  ex- 
plained a  Zanzibar  model  off  hand. 

"Zanzibar?"  he  repeats,  relieved-like.  "Well, 
that's  a  new  one  on  me,  but  I'll  bet  you  know  all 
about  them,"  and  he  smiled.  He  didn't  say 
any  more,  only,  as  his  launch  went  under  our 
stern,  he  pointed  out  her  name,  Zulieka.  "We 
couldn't  find  it  in  the  register,"  he  says. 

"Naturally,"  I  said,  "seeing  as  she  was  named 
new  since  the  last  register  was  printed." 

He  looked  me  fair  in  the  eyes  then,  and — 'twas 
the  first  time — he  laughed  out  loud.  "You  can 
explain  it  all  over  to  the  captain  of  the  Alleghany 
to-morrow,"  he  says,  and,  laughing  again,  waves 
his  hand  and  steams  off. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said  to  myself,  "I  can  see  myself 
waiting  for  that  revenue  captain  in  the  morning." 

That  night,  after  dark,  Gillis  and  I  rowed  ashore 
those  forty-two  Chinamen,  eleven  to  a  time  in 

179 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

the  dory.  There  was  a  little  chop  on,  and,  with 
thirteen  of  us  in  the  dory,  they  had  to  bail  like 
blue  devils  with  their  little  round  hats  to  keep  her 
from  filling.  And  Cruse  and  his  agents,  who 
were  waiting,  took  'em  to  Boston  on  the  trolleys, 
half  a  dozen  to  a  time. 

I  put  Annie  Mann  and  her  father  ashore  too. 
On  leaving,  she  said:  "Be  careful  and  get  away 
long  before  daylight,  Alec.  Let  all  the  Glaveses 
and  Pinlocks  and  Cruses  be  caught — it's  in  their 
business — but  not  you,  Alec.  Nor  you  either, 
Archie,"  stepping  over  to  him.  "No  sister  of 
mine  must  marry  a  law-breaker,"  and  a  few  words 
more  to  me,  and  then  a  few  from  me  that  had 
maybe  more  of  love  than  of  law  in  them. 

We  worked  our  way  out  among  the  yachting 
fleet  in  the  dark,  and  next  day  being  drizzly,  it 
was  a  good  chance  to  run  her  into  a  safe  place  on 
the  north  side  of  Cape  Ann.  And  there  we  let  her 
lay  a  while.  And  the  extra  head-money  on  those 
two  Chinamen  we  picked  up  in  the  dory  was  more 
than  enough  to  pay  for  the  broken  main-mast  and 
all  the  damage  of  the  gale.  And  Cruse  after  a 
time  sold  her  to  a  Portugee  for  a  packet  between 
New  Bedford  and  the  Azores  Islands,  though 
Cruse — only  his  name  wasn't  Cruse  for  a  while — 
had  to  sacrifice  all  the  profit  of  the  trip  in  the  sale. 
For  fast  as  the  devil  though  she  was,  which  suited 

1 80 


The  Venture  of  the   "  Flying  Hind  " 

the  Portuguese  packet  service,  she  was  a  bit  loose 
in  her  planking. 

What  became  of  Glaves,  I  don't  know;  but  he 
never  darkened  Annie  Mann's  door  again.  And 
Gillis  and  I — we  were  satisfied  to  go  back  fishing. 


181 


THE  CRUISE  O'  THE 
"BOUNDING  BOY" 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding 


Boy 


jy 


ON  to  the  port  wing-deck — on  our  ship  the 
coziest  nook  from  which  to  view  things, 
and  no  whole  ship's  company  to  disturb — we 
strolled  this  afternoon  to  see  what  was  doing; 
and  who  should  be  there  before  us  but  Cahalan, 
the  same  old  untamable  Cahalan,  and  the  same 
old  rating  badge  on  his  sleeve.  Nobody  in  the 
deck  division  had  been  long  enough  in  the  service 
to  remember  when  Cahalan  didn't  rate  as  a 
bosun's  mate,  first  class. 

When  we  were  last  shipmates  with  Cahalan  he 
was  a  short-timer,  and  his  daily  chant  had  been, 
"No  more  navy  for  me  after  I'm  paid  off  this 
time";  which,  of  course,  coming  from  an  old 
flatfoot,  is  never  taken  seriously.  It  is  only  your 
one  and  two  service-stripers  who  don't  come  back. 
Even  the  officers;  you  can  hear  them  sometimes, 
on  their  blue  days  down  in  the  wardroom  country, 
tell  how  they're  going  to  resign — yes,  sir,  going  to 
resign  and  raise  chickens,  by  gad!    or  get  a  job 

i85 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

with    some   power   company   somewhere   ashore. 
And  how  many  of  them  do  ?     And  why  don't  they  ? 

And  why  hadn't  Cahalan  ?  Well,  he  had, 
partly;  at  least  he  had  stayed  beyond  his  four 
months'  furlough.  And  that  meant  a  lot — forfeit- 
ing his  continuous-service  privileges.  And  why  ? 
we  wondered. 

We  were  eager  enough  to  hear  what  Cahalan 
would  have  to  say,  but  he  seemed  to  be  engrossed, 
so  gloomily  engrossed,  judging  by  his  profile  ex- 
pression, with  the  ship's  launch  which,  with  a 
cargo  of  young  women,  two  or  three  of  them  quite 
pretty,  was  just  then  steaming  up  to  the  ship's  side, 
that  we  did  not  break  in  on  him;  only  when  at 
last  he  did  turn  around  one  of  us  said,  "Hello," 
and  he  said,  "Hello,"  and,  further,  "Look," 
meaning  thereby  for  us  to  observe  the  young 
ladies  strategically  disposed  around  the  quarter- 
deck. "Girls  enough  for  all,"  commented  Caha- 
lan, "even  for  the  middies  almost.  Look  at  'em, 
cruising  outboard  like  a  lot  of  little  patrol  boats 
at  a  review,  waiting  to  swoop  down  on  anything 
that  drifts  across  the  line!" 

But  we  were  not  interesting  ourselves  in  ward- 
room or  steerage  procedure.  "The  last  time  we 
saw  you  you  were  beating  it  up  the  dock,  waving 
your  hand  back  at  the  ship  and  saying,  'Never 
again  for  me.'    What  brought  you  back?" 

1 86 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

"Would  you  believe  it — Wimmen!"  he  exploded 
suddenly.  "Yes,  wimmen!  And  another  man's 
judgment  of  'em,  mind  you,  not  my  own.  But 
when  a  man's  been  a  year  to  sea,  same  as  this  chap 
'd  been,  what  c'n  you  expect  ?" 

"Or  even  when  you  haven't  been  any  year  to 
sea;  when  you're  ashore  the  whole  time  ?" 

"No,  no,  no,"  protested  Cahalan;  "not  so  bad 
as  that.  When  you  get  into  port  occasionally  to 
kind  o'  keep  the  run  o'  their  development  you're 
not  altogether  out  of  it;  but  when" — and  so  on  for 
an  uninterrupted  run  of  a  half-hour  or  so  before 
we  could  swing  him  back  to  the  charted  course. 
Cahalan  was  a  great  hand  to  fly  off  like  that, 
and  when  he  did  fly  off  it  was  for  no  little 
flying-fish  leaps,  but  long,  steady,  cloud-reaching 
flights. 

"Well,  when  I  was  paid  off  in  'Frisco  that  day 
there  were  just  two  things  I  had  in  mind.  One, 
I  wasn't  going  back  to  the  navy;  and  the  other,  I 
was  going  to  see  my  good  old  mother,  who  lives  in 
Brooklyn.  And  I  had  the  best  part  of  two  years' 
back  pay  and  a  ticket  to  New  York  in  my  pocket, 
the  ticket  through  Canada  so  that  I  could  have 
a  look  at  the  country  along  the  way.  All  right! 
But  it  was  a  hot  day  going  through  the  valley  and 
I  hadn't  had  a  drink  in  three  months.  You  know 
how  it  is  being  a  prohibitionist,  whether  you  will 

i87 


The  Cruise  o*  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

or  no,  aboard  ship.  Maybe  the  tea-drinking  old 
ladies  think  it's  a  grand  scheme,  but  maybe,  too, 
those  old  ladies  don't  know  it  all.  Did  they  ever 
stop  to  think,  d'  y'  s'pose,  how  a  coal-passer  feels 
who's  been  shovelling  coal  for  four  hours  next  a 
hot  furnace  and  he  comes  up  in  the  air,  and  he'd 
give  his  month's  pay  for  a  bottle  of  cold  beer? 
But  he  can't  have  it,  not  if  he'd  give  his  life  for  it. 
No.  But  the  old  ladies  who  made  the  law  can 
have  their  twelve  or  fifteen  cups  o'  tea  a  day.  I 
wonder  would  they  put  up  a  holler  if  you  and  me 
was  to  pass  a  law  sayin'  they  couldn't  ? 

"Well,  I  didn't  start  out  to  deliver  any  sermon. 
It  was  a  hot  day,  and  I  got  off  at  Seattle  to  get  a 
drink.  And  you  know  how  it  is  about  a  drink 
No  man  is  goin'  to  stop  at  one  bottle  of  beer 
after  he's  stayed  away  from  it  three  months.  Of 
course  not.  So  I  had  another,  and  a  third,  and 
maybe  a  fourth  or  a  fifth;  and  then  I  stopped  to 
take  soundings — and  maybe  make  a  new  depar- 
ture for  a  different,  maybe  a  better  label  o'  beer; 
for  when  you  got  plenty  of  money  in  your  pocket 
you  might's  well  have  your  choice,  mightn't  you  ? 
Sure. 

"Well,  I  fetched  up  at  a  place  called  Tagen's, 
a  sort  of  hotel  with  a  barroom  at  one  end  and  a 
caffy  at  the  other,  a  place  that  seemed  to  be  popu- 
lar with  foolish  chaps  back  from  the  Klondike  and 

188 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

other  foolish  chaps  like  myself  just  back  from 
sea.  There  I  happened  to  sit  down  at  the  same 
table  with  what  looked  like  a  seafarin'  man.  And 
so  he  turned  out,  a  sealing  captain  named  Patten 
and  a  pretty  decent  sort,  too.  And  it  wasn't  hard 
to  see  he  was  at  home  in  the  place,  for  soon  he 
introduced  me  to  a  soft-stepping  chap  he  called 
Johnnie,  who  seemed  to  rate  as  a  sort  of  master- 
at-arms  and  canteen  yeoman,  both;  for  when 
he  wasn't  around  noticin'  things  he  was  makin' 
change. 

"  'The  boss?'  I  asked,  after  Johnnie' d  had  a 
drink  with  us — only  he  took  a  cigar  instead,  a 
quarter  one,  which  he  put  in  his  pocket;  goin'  to 
smoke  it  later. 

"  'No,  no,  there's  the  boss  in  the  office,'  says 
Patten;  'him  reading  the  paper  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 
He  don't  have  anything  to  do  but  spend  the 
money.  He  leaves  everything  to  Johnnie.'  Well, 
a  few  more  drinks,  and  Patten  was  telling  me  his 
life's  history,  and  I  says  to  myself,  '  You're  not  the 
worst  in  the  world,  only  you  sure  oughtn't  to  be 
allowed  to  be  cruisin'  around  here  without  a  land 
compass  and  a  corrected  up-to-date  shore-goin' 
chart.' 

"Anyway,  'Come,  Cahalan,'  he  says  after  a 
while,  'till  I  introduce  you  to  the  future  Mrs. 
Patten,'  and  steers  me  up  to  the  caffy  at  the  other 

189 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

end  of  the  hotel,  where  was  a  big  blonde  woman 
in  the  cashier's  cage. 

"  'Ain't  she  a  queen  ?'  says  Patten,  and  taking 
a  table  where  he  could  see  her,  orders  enough 
for  general  mess;  and  all  through  the  meal  was 
making  eyes  at  her,  and  when  she  wasn't  making 
change  she'd  smile  at  him,  too,  but  in  a  most 
proper  way.  'A  perfect  lady,'  says  Patten,  'who 
won't  brook  no  familiarity.' 

"  'Yes,'  says  I,  'easy  to  see  that.  If  you  doubt 
the  goods  look  at  the  label — no  other  brand ' 

"  'Huh!'  he  says. 

"  'Easy  to  see,'  I  hurries  on  to  say,  'that  she's 
sure  a  perfect  lady.' 

"  'They  don't  none  of  them  get  fresh  with  her,' 
explains  Patten. 

"  'Why  should  they?  I  mean,  of  course  not, 
Cap.  But  ain't  she  a  pretty  good  tonnage  for 
a  light-armored  craft  like  you  to  be  engagin'  ? ' 
And  then,  so's  not  to  hurt  his  feelin's,  'Ain't  she 
kind  of  a  little  on  the  buxom  model  ? ' 

"  'Oh!'   says  Patten,  'I  likes  'em  buxom/ 

"Buxom  she  sure  was.  A  battle-ship  I'd  call 
her,  and  couldn't  help  imaginin'  her  steamin' 
down  a  crowded  street  and  bowling  'em  to  the 
right  and  left  off  each  bow. 

'Ain't  she  a  queen,  though,  Addie?'  goes  on 
Patten.     And  now,  what' re  you  going  to  do  with 
190 


The  Cruise  o    the  "Bounding  Boy" 

a  man  like  that?  Only  ten  days  ashore,  after  a 
year  at  sea,  and  already  sealing  up  his  judgments. 
Let  a  man  stay  away  long  enough,  'specially  if  it's 
brown,  yellow,  and  black  he's  been  mixin'  with, 
and  almost  any  upstandin'  white  woman  '11  get 
him.  'I'm  goin'  off  to  make  a  little  pile  and  come 
back  and  marry  her,'  he  goes  on,  'and  what  d'y' 
say  to  shippin'  with  me  as  mate  ? ' 

"  'For  a  sealing  trip  ?' 

"  'For  a  sealing  trip — or  whatever  it  develops 
into.'  He  stops  to  give  me  a  good  look  over,  and 
I  says,  '  Better  not  tell  me  yet,  for  maybe  I  won't 

go-' 

"When  Patten  went  up  to  settle  for  the  check 
there  was  some  little  goo-gooin'  between  himself 
and  the  cashier,  which  I  couldn't  help  noticin', 
no  more  than  I  could  that  she  didn't  have  to  ring 
up  any  cash  register,  and,  noticin'  that,  I  remem- 
bered that,  at  the  other  end  of  the  house,  where  the 
smooth  bartender  made  the  change,  there  wasn't 
any  cash  register  either.  I  mentions  this  to  Patten 
when  we  were  outside. 

"Oh!'  explains  Patten,  to  that,  'Tagen  trusts 
'em  both.  And  why  shouldn't  he  ?  They  make 
all  his  money  for  him.  Why,  Johnnie's  got  a 
thousand  of  my  money — goin'  to  let  me  in  on  a 
minin'  proposition.  A  great  fellow,  Johnnie.  But 
how  about  that  sealin'  trip  with  me?' 

191 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

"  'No,'  I  says,  Til  pass  that  up  now,  Cap.  My 
old  mother,  y'see,  she  lives  in  the  middle  of  a 
three-deck  house  in  Brooklyn,  with  ten  Lithuanians 
topside  and  a  family  named  Wyzinski  on  the  deck 
below,  and  I'm  goin'  to  see  her  and  move  her  out 
of  there.'  And  never  did  I  mean  anything  like  I 
meant  that.  But,  once  having  dropped  anchor,  of 
course  you've  got  to  have  a  look  at  a  port  before 
you  get  under  way  again — of  course.  And  a 
week  later" — Cahalan  spat  reminiscently  over  the 
side — "with  not  enough  in  my  pocket  to  buy  a  cup 
of  coffee,  I  patrolled  the  water-front  one  mornin' 
till  I  met  Patten,  and,  without  askin'  any  ques- 
tions, I  signed  on  as  mate  of  the  Bounding  Boy, 
a  schooner  with  a  deep  forefoot,  a  mixed  crew,  and 
a  cross-eyed,  English-speaking  Jap  cook  that  was 
also  cabin-boy,  named  Zippy. 

"  'Now,' says  Patten, 'here's  my  scheme.  There's 
a  fur  company  up  thereaway  that's  been  doin'  a 
nice  quiet  business  with  the  huskies  in  the  Aleu- 
tians, collecting  skins  for  'em — otters,  foxes,  seals 
and  one  kind  or  another,  fine  rich  skins  that  bring 
a  big  price  in  'Frisco.  And  here's  how  they 
work  it.  Every  now  and  then,  when  the  hus- 
kies have  a  nice  pile  of  skins  collected,  the  fur 
company's  vessel  comes  along,  hoists  the  com- 
pany's flag  to  the  foretruck,  the  crew  go  ashore, 
take  the  skins,  give  the  huskies  a  big  official  docu- 

192 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

ment — a  fine  big  sheet  of  paper  with  a  big  blue 
ribbon  and  a  splash  of  red  wax — all  official,  you 
know — and  sail  off.' 

"  'Well?'  I  says. 

"  'Well/  he  says,  'what's  the  matter  with  us 
sailin'  up  and  collectin'  some  of  them  skins?' 

"  'Sort  of  loot  the  Leuts!'  I  says  to  him. 

"I  s'pose  bein'  brought  up  in  the  navy  makes 
a  difference,  but  it  looked  to  me  like  high  piracy, 
and  I  said  so. 

"  'ShoP  says  Patten.  'A  bunch  o'  Roosians 
and  Japs  owns  the  company.' 

"Well,  I  didn't  figure  out  where  they  bein' 
Roosians  and  Japs  let  me  out,  but  I  was  in  for  it, 
and  so  we  gets  a  lot  of  fine,  big,  official-looking 
papers,  blue  ribbons,  and  red  wax,  and  sails  out. 
And  wherever  we  saw  a  fat  pile  of  skins  we'd 
hoist  the  foreign  fur  company's  flag  to  the  fore, 
sail  in,  go  ashore,  say  'How!'  to  the  huskies,  open 
up  a  little  keg,  hand  the  red  stuff  around,  get  'em 
all  pie-eyed,  collect  the  skins,  give  them  a  receipt 
— all  official,  blue  ribbon  and  the  red-wax  seal — 
leave  'em  to  finish  the  little  keg,  and  sail  away. 

"We  were  doin'  a  magnificent  business,  had 
the  main-hold  of  the  Bounding  Boy  pretty  well 
filled  up,  and  the  same  hadn't  cost  us  more  than, 
well,  say,  than  twenty-one  or  two  ten  gallon  kegs  of 
about  that  class  of  rum  which  they  used  to  hand 

193 


The  Cruise  o   the  "  Bounding  Boy " 

out  to  drunken  sailors  along  the  Barbary  Coast 
before  the  fire,  and  Patten  was  talking  of  'Frisco, 
Seattle,  and  the  Queen  of  Tagen's  bar,  when  one 
day  a  Jap  he  did  business  with  at  one  of  the  sta- 
tions up  there  came  out  in  a  little  sailboat  to  tell 
him  he'd  better  not  go  back  to  the  States  with  the 
skins,  that  the  cutter  was  watching  out  for  us;  but 
to  take  them  to  Vladivostok,  where  was  a  man — 
Patten  made  a  note  of  the  name — a  safe  man  who 
bought  skins  for  the  Russian  market  and  without 
askin'  too  many  questions. 

"I  didn't  like  the  Jap's  looks,  but  Patten  re- 
minded me  that  I  didn't  like  Japs  anyway,  which 
was  true;  and  so  we  swung  the  Boy  off  for  the 
other  shore  of  the  Pacific,  and  not  a  thing  hap- 
pened during  the  whole  passage  till  we  came  to 
anchor  in  the  harbor  of  Vladivostok,  when  a 
Russian  official  took  the  vessel  in  charge  and,  cast- 
ing the  rest  of  the  crew  loose,  threw  Patten  and 
me  into  a  little  stone  jail  and  held  us  there  for 
three  weeks,  which  certainly  surprised  us  some. 

"Out  in  the  light  of  the  sun  again,  the  first 
news — from  a  whiskered,  belted,  good-natured 
Russian,  who  could  talk  English — was  that  the 
schooner  had  been  auctioned  off  the  day  before 
to  pay  the  fine.  'What  did  she  bring?'  asks 
Patten. 

"  'Twenty-two  hundred  and  fifty  rubles.' 
194 


The  Cruise  o   the  "Bounding  Boy" 

"  'What!  My  fine  Bounding  Boy  that  cost  me 
six  times  that  only  fifteen  months  ago ! '  yells  Pat- 
ten.    'And  how  much  was  the  fine?' 

"And  the  Russian,  not  a  smile  out  of  him, 
says,  '  Twenty-two  hundred  and  fifty  rubles/ 

"  'Whee-yew!'  and  Patten  has  to  sit  down  to 
fan  himself. 

"'Not  even  a  few  loose  copecks  for  a  drink  V 
I  asks.  'No?  They  surely  made  a  proper  job, 
didn't  they?     And  how  about  the  furs?'  I  asks. 

"  'Oh,  the  head  of  the  fur  company,  from 
which  you  stole  them,  came  to  Vladivostok — he 
was  here  truly  before  your  ship — he  took  them/ 

"  'And  what'd  he  have  to  say?' 

"  'Said  that  now,  as  he  had  his  furs,  he  would 
not  prosecute  further.    Very  good  of  him/ 

"  'Damn  good/  I  says.  'But  who  bought  the 
schooner?' 

"  'A  Japanese  gentleman.  His  name  ?  Wait. 
But  no,  I  do  not  recollect  his  name/ 

"Well,  we  both  knew  too  much  of  Russian 
officials  to  protest.  The  whole  outfit,  Russians 
and  Japs,  were  in  together,  and  they  weren't 
letting  the  little  matter  of  the  late  war  interfere 
with  business.  Well,  the  schooner  was  gone,  and 
I  was  only  wishin'  I  had  a  smoke.  But  Patten 
breaks  out  with,  'And  all  my  money  stored  under 
her  cabin  run!'  and  sits  down  on  a  doorstep,  and 

195 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

there  I  left  him,  to  go  back  and  put  a  few  more 
questions  to  that  Russian  who  spoke  such  good 
English;  and  he  told  me  that  the  rest  of  the  crew 
had  shipped  on  any  old  kind  of  a  craft  to  get  away 
— all  but  the  four  Japs,  who  had  gone  off  on  the 
schooner  with  the  new  owner. 

"  'Zippy — a  low-sized,  cross-eyed  chap — was  he 
one  of  them?'  I  asks  him.  'Yes,  he  was  one  of 
them,'  and  I  hurries  back  to  Patten.  'All  those 
chaps  going  off  in  the  Boy  means  that  she's  bound 
for  Japan,'  I  says  to  Patten.  'Don't  you  remem- 
ber they  were  all  figurin'  on  how  they'd  get  home 
the  whole  cruise  ?  And  Zippy  the  cook's  one 
of  them.  And  Zippy,'  I  went  on,  'was  the  only 
one  who  could  come  in  and  out  of  the  cabin  when 
he  pleased.'    And  at  that  Patten  came  to  himself. 

"  'Then  if  I  want  to  see  that  money  again  I 
got  to  find  Zippy,  and  the  easiest  way  to  find 
Zippy  is  to  find  the  vessel,  hah  ?'  said  Patten,  and 
offers  me  double  wages  for  the  whole  cruise  if  I'd 
go  after  the  vessel  with  him.  And,  of  course,  I 
went — 'twas  as  short  a  way  home  as  any  other — 
and,  besides,  I  wanted  to  get  a  crack  at  our  old 
cook,  too.  So  the  pair  of  us  shipped  on  a  little 
steamer  bound  for  Hong-Kong  and  way  ports. 
Patten's  job  was  to  peel  potatoes,  and  mine  to 
wash  dishes  in  the  galley.  Fine,  healthy  jobs  for 
a  husky  bosun's  mate,  United  States  Navy,  and  a 

196 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

sealing  captain,  wasn't  they  ?  And  what  harm  ? 
But  our  particular  boss,  the  head  steward,  was  one 
of  those  cocky  little  Japs  who  used  to  elbow  us 
out  of  the  alleyways  every  time  he  went  by.  Well " 
— Cahalan  spat  reflectively  over  the  side — "may- 
be it's  true,  as  some  say,  that  the  white  race  has 
seen  its  best  days  and  the  yellow  boys  are  havin' 
their  turn;  but  one  thing's  sure — they're  not  yet 
quite  so  sure  of  it  that  the  job  sets  easy  on  'em. 
They  sure  rubbed  it  into  us.  Not  a  meal  that  we 
didn't  come  near  breaking  a  few  large  platters  over 
the  heads  of  some  of  'em. 

"Anyway,  not  a  harbor  we  put  into  that  our 
heads  weren't  out  the  air-ports  for  signs  of  the 
schooner,  and  going  into  Yokohama  one  fine  day 
there  she  lay  to  moorings  in  the  stream.  The 
pair  of  us  we  could  hardly  keep  from  punchin' 
each  other  for  excitement,  and  that  night,  as  our 
steamer  was  about  to  leave,  we  slipped  ashore. 
We  hadn't  a  cent  between  us,  nor  clothes  enough 
to  keep  us  warm;  for  we'd  sold  our  coats  and 
flannel  shirts  for  tobacco  and  a  few  drinks  of 
vodka  while  in  jail  at  Vladivostok.  But  we  beat 
the  water-front,  in  the  hope  of  an  opening  or 
meeting  up  with  somebody  we  knew — but  nothing. 
If  there  was  only  an  American  cruiser  or  gun- 
boat about — but  nothing  we  could  butt  in  on, 
not  another  American  we  knew  in  the  place.     A 

197 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

bit  discouraged  maybe  we  was,  but  be  sure  we  had 
no  notion  of  the  Bounding  Boy  getting  away 
without  our  bein'  'round  to  see  her  off. 

"First,  we  needed  weapons  of  some  kind.  One 
of  those  two-handed  samurai  swords  wouldn't  've 
been  too  bad,  but  no  chance  to  steal  one  even;  or 
a  piece  of  lead  pipe  would  've  been  a  great  help. 
This,  mind  you,  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
next  day,  and  we  were  hungry  and  growing  a 
little  careless  of  local  law.  We  had  no  money,  as 
I  said,  but  one  of  Patten's  fingers  flew  one  of 
those  seal  rings — you  know  the  kind — wide  gold 
band  with  a  woman's  head  in  some  kind  of  brown 
stone,  looking  sideways.  'Say,  Cap,'  I  says,  'you'll 
have,  to  pawn  that.' 

"  'What!'  yells  Patten,  'my  birthday  gift  from 
Addie!' 

"Bein'  a  birthday  gift,  I  takes  a  closer  look. 
Sure  enough,  it  was  one  of  those  six-carat  things 
with  the  brown  glass  which  Patten  thought  was 
some  precious  stone.  I  knew  where  there  used  to 
be  a  jeweller's  window  on  Eighth  Avenue  piled 
high  with  about  twelve  dozen  gross  of  them,  and 
you  took  your  pick  for  four-ninety-eight.  On  the 
west  coast  they  might  've  cost  a  dollar  more,  or 
maybe  two  dollars  more  at  Christmas  time. 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  do,  so  I  took  Patten 
by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  a  sort  of  second-hand 

198 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

curio  shop,  where  was  a  pair  of  ancient,  double- 
barrel,  percussion-cap  pistols  in  a  box  that  I'd 
spotted  that  morning.  Long-barrelled  things  they 
were,  with  crossed  American  flags  engraved  on 
the  yellow  bone  grips.  How  they  got  there  was  a 
mystery — maybe  pinched  off  some  American  naval 
officer  the  time  Perry  was  there.  I  doubted  could 
we  ever  get  the  old  things  to  go  off  again,  and  we 
couldn't  try  them  there  because  we'd  probably  get 
pinched  by  a  division  of  those  little  ju-jutsu  po- 
licemen if  we  did  and  they  happened  to  go  off. 
The  old  fellow  runnin'  the  place  finally  swapped 
the  pistols  for  the  seal  ring;  and  for  my  black  silk 
neckerchief,  which  I  was  hoping  to  save  for  my  old 
mother,  he  sent  a  boy  out  for  fresh  charges  of 
black  powder.  The  bullets  and  caps  were  in  the 
box.  I  doubted  the  virtue  of  the  caps,  but  the 
pistols  would  do  to  put  up  a  bluff. 

"  'Twas  night  by  then,  and  we  ready  to  storm 
a  Japanese  battle-ship  if  only  there  was  a  square 
meal  layin'  around  anywhere  on  her  deck.  Well, 
we  sashayed  the  water-front  and  cut  a  sampan 
adrift,  and,  paddling  out  into  the  stream,  made 
fast  to  the  Boys  bobstay  and  climbed  inboard 
over  her  bow.  In  his  hurry  Patten  fell  over  the 
windlass,  and  I  thought  I  heard  a  scurryin'  and  a 
voice  from  the  fo'c's'le  under  us.  I  asked  Patten 
if  he  heard  it. 

199 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

"  '  I  wonder  is  my  money  safe  ? '  was  all  he 
answered. 

u  'Never  mind  your  money/  I  says;  'let's  see 
who's  aboard.  But  first  let's  take  a  look  at  the 
cabin.' 

"We  found  the  door  to  the  cabin  locked,  so  we 
went  back  to  the  fo'c's'le,  of  which  the  hatch  was 
but  half  drawn.  By  that  alone  we  knew  somebody 
was  aboard.  We  slid  the  hatch  clean  back.  No 
light,  no  noise — which  we  didn't  like.  People  don't 
leave  a  vessel  in  a  harbor  without  locking  her  up. 
We  waited,  ears  and  eyes  strained  for  sound  or 
sight  of  something  below.     Not  a  sound;  nobody. 

"Well,  we  wouldn't  stand  there  all  night.  I  took 
off  my  boots,  tucked  the  old  pistols  into  my  waist- 
band, and  let  myself  down  the  fo'c's'le  ladder. 
And  a  good  job  I  made  of  it;  they  would  have 
needed  good  ears  below  to  hear  me.  Once  down, 
I  lay  behind  the  ladder  for  a  full  five  minutes, 
maybe,  before  I  rapped — two  short  and  three 
long  taps,  softly — for  Patten  to  come  down.  I 
wanted  to  tell  him  to  look  out,  to  take  his  boots 
off,  too,  like  I  did,  that  the  top  step  of  the  ladder 
was  slippery  with  grease;  but  I  didn't  dare  to 
speak  out  loud.  It  was  so  dark  that  I  couldn't 
see  him  coming;  but  when  he  did  come  a  stone 
image  could  've  heard  him,  for,  when  he  threw  his 
weight  on  that  top  step,  away  went  those  smooth- 
200 


The  Cruise  o   the  "Bounding  Boy" 

soled  boots  from  under  him  and  down  he  came. 
Plump!  he  hit  the  fo'c's'le  floor.  And  there  he 
lay,  not  a  sound  out  of  him,  for  the  longest  time 
— till  I  began  to  think  he  was  dead,  had  broken  his 
spine,  maybe.  I  was  about  to  crawl  around  the 
ladder  to  investigate,  when  I  heard  a  move  and  a 
sort  of  groan,  and  then,  from  out  of  the  darkness, 
the  most  surprised  words:  'Spirits  of  nitre,  but 
aren't  she  deep!' 

"I  couldn't  help  it — I  had  to  roar;  but  hearing 
a  scrapin'  sound  then  I  shut  up  quick  and  set  to 
considerin'  again,  now  that  we  were  below,  what 
we  could  do.  I  remembered  that  in  the  schooner 
there  used  to  be  a  lamp  in  a  bracket  over  the 
cook's  closet,  which  ought  to  be  just  behind  where 
I  was  now  layin\  I  got  up  and  felt  about.  Good 
enough !  There  it  was,  and  matches  beside  it.  I 
took  down  the  lamp,  and,  feeling  no  heat  coming 
out  of  the  galley  stove,  opened  the  oven  door, 
shoved  the  lamp  in,  and  lit  it.  'Patten,'  I  whis- 
pers then,  'crawl  over  here.'  Which  he  did,  not 
quite  as  smooth  and  slippery  as  an  eel,  but  gettin' 
over  after  a  while.  Then  I  took  the  lamp,  reached 
it  out  at  arm's-length  around  the  stove,  and 
waited  to  see  what  would  happen.  Nothing.  I 
took  a  peep  around  the  after  outboard  leg  of  the 
stove.  So  far  as  the  lamp's  rays  shot  out,  nothing; 
but  from  somewhere  for'ard  came  a  heavy  breath- 
201 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

ing,  and  we  knew  that  somebody  in  the  peak  was 
getting  excited. 

"  'An'  you'll  be  more  excited  yet/  I  says  to 
myself,  though  not  oversure  that  the  two  of  us 
wouldn't  be  the  most  excited  of  all  before  it  was 
over  with. 

"We  waited.  All  at  once,  bang-g-g!  For  just 
a  flash  the  darkness  of  the  peak  was  lit  up.  And 
we  could  hear  the  ting  of  the  bullet  where  it  hit 
the  galley  tins  behind  us.  'Twas  the  lamp  they 
aimed  at,  for  that  smashed  and  the  light  quivered, 
flickered,  and  died  out;  and  in  the  dark  I  could 
feel  the  lamp  oil  flowin'  against  my  face  where  I 
lay  on  the  floor  behind  the  stove. 

"  'Well,  they're  sure  on  the  job,'  I  whispers  to 
Patten,  and  we  stayed  laid  out  flat  there  with  our 
rusty  old  curios  held  under  the  stove  and  trained 
forward,  both  of  us  wonderin'  would  they  go  off 
at  all,  even  with  the  fresh  powder  the  old  fellow 
gave  us;  but  no  more  wonderin'  then,  for  'twas  a 
sound  of  cautious  steps  comin'  nearer. 

"  'They  must  be  coming  over  the  lockers, 
Cahalan — from  the  peak.  They're  probably  won- 
dering if  we're  armed,'  whispers  Patten,  which 
was  what  I  was  thinkin';  and  thinkin',  too,  that 
they'd  be  making  a  rush  soon  for  the  ladder.  And 
if  they  ever  made  the  deck  and  slid  the  hatch  it 
would  be  all  up  with  us. 

202 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

"  'They  ought  to  be  abreast  of  the  foremast 
butt  now/  whispers  Patten  a  second  or  two  later. 
'Will  I  shoot?'" 

"  'Not  yet,  but  here — quick!'  I  whispers  back. 
'Let  me  haul  off  your  boots.  Here,  keep  one  and 
I'll  take  the  other.  Now  rake  the  lockers,  you  to 
port  and  me  to  starboard — now!'  And  we  stood 
up  and  let  go  with  a  full  swing,  each  of  us  a  heavy 
sealer's  boot.  One  went  bouncing  for'ard  into 
the  peak;  from  one  side  to  the  other  we  could  hear 
it.  The  other  had  better  luck,  for  it  was  a  most 
surprised  grunt  we  heard,  as  if  it  had  fetched  up 
awfully  sudden  on  somethin'  human. 

"We  were  almost  laughing  to  ourselves  to  think 
of  how  that  broadside  o'  boots  must  Ve  surprised 
'em,  when,  bang-g-g!  bang-g-g!  bang-g-g!  one, 
two,  three  revolvers  at  least — eight,  ten,  or  a  dozen 
bullets,  most  of  them  hittin'  against  the  stove,  but 
two  or  three  ricochetting  along  the  floor  and  among 
the  galley  tins  behind. 

"After  that  we  lay  without  a  stir  for  what  we 
reckoned  was  five  minutes.  'You  listen  and  I'll 
groan/  says  I  to  Patten,  then,  'and  I'll  bet  they'll 
light  a  lamp  and  take  a  look  around,  for  they 
must  be  sure  by  now  we've  got  no  guns/  And  so 
it  happened.  We  could  only  see  the  hand  of 
whoever  lit  the  table  lamp  as  he  reached  around — 
a  brown  hand  and  wrist.  With  a  service  revolver 
203 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

I  could  have  whipped  that  hand  off — even  with  the 
old  muzzle-loader  I  was  tempted  to  try  it,  but 
didn't.  Instead,  I  took  to  groaning,  and  Patten 
lay  like  one  dead.  We'd  already  given  up  the 
notion  of  making  any  bluff  with  our  ancient  duel- 
los. We  were  glad  to  be  still  alive.  Our  feet 
stuck  out  beyond  the  stove  and  they  might  have 
been  seen  there,  but  hardly  more  than  that  of  us 
as  they  came  out  from  the  peak  again.  Squinting 
under  the  stove  we  could  see  them;  four  of  them, 
creeping  over  the  lockers  toward  us.  Sure  enough, 
the  leader  of  the  four  was  our  old  cook.  'D'  y'  see 
him — Zippy  ?'  breathed  Patten — and  he  was  wild. 
'Well,  I'm  goin'  to  wing  him — watch!'  and  takes 
aim  with  his  ancient  duelling  pistol.  But  it  didn't 
go  off.  He  snaps  the  other  barrel.  No  report. 
Zippy  raises  his  revolver  at  the  second  click — he 
had  stopped  dead  after  the  first  click — and  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  take  a  chance  at  him.  No 
time  for  loafin'.  'And  if  she  don't  go  off,'  I  says 
to  Patten,  'we'll  jump  up  and  give  'em  a  broadside 
of  stove  covers.'  For  all  my  hurry,  I  takes  a  good 
long  squint  through  the  sights  at  Zippy — the  sights 
were  all  right  and,  glory  be!  the  old  muzzle-loader 
went  off,  and  Zippy,  after  swinging  a  little  to  one 
side  and  hangin'  uncertain  for  about  four  seconds, 
sagged  gently  in  the  middle  and  fell  off  the  lockers 
as  loose  as  any  sack  o'  commissary  beans  ever 
204 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

you  see  tumbled  into  the  hold.  The  other  three 
then  stopped  short  as  if  they  didn't  know  what  to 
do. 

"  'Zippy,"  calls  out  Patten  then,  'tell  your 
people  to  hold  their  hands  above  their  heads.' 
But  no  answer  of  word  or  action  came  to  that. 

"  'Zippy,'  I  calls  out  then,  and  I  tries  to  give 
a  good  imitation  of  myself  pipin'  a  lazy  watch  the 
length  of  a  battle-ship's  'tween-decks.  'Zippy,  my 
boy,  you're  not  dead,  and  don't  try  to  make  out 
you  are.  But  you  will  be  in  about  three  seconds 
if  you  don't  tell  them  what  Captain  Patten  just 
ordered — and  hurry!' 

"Zippy's  voice  was  heard  then,  and  the  three 
others  lifted  high  their  hands,  at  which  we  crawled 
out  from  behind  the  galley  stove  and  took  their 
guns  from  them  and  drove  'em  into  bunks,  and 
motioned  them  to  turn  their  faces  toward  the 
ship's  side,  which  they  did. 

"  'Now,'  says  Patten,  'we'll  go  aft  on  that  little 
treasure  hunt.' 

"  'No,'  says  I,  'we'll  just  have  a  bite  to  eat — 
nothing  since  eight  o'clock  last  night,  and  I'm 
hungry.' 

"  'That's  right/  says  Patten.  'I'm  hungry, 
too/  and  we  foraged  the  galley  and  had  a  great 
meal.  'Now  for  the  money/  says  Patten  and 
went  up  the  ladder,  and  soon  I  could  hear  him 

205 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

kicking  in  the  cabin  door.  In  may  be  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  he  was  back.  No  need  to  ask  was  the 
money  gone. 

"  'What '11  we  do?'  he  asks,  all  discouraged; 
at  which  I  saw  the  man  lacked  imagination,  and 
so  took  charge  myself. 

"  'First,  let's  lift  this  Zippy  man  into  a  bunk,' 
I  said,  and  we  did.  'But  not  your  face  to  the 
wall/  I  adds  to  Zippy.  'Now,  you  loafer,  you 
look  and  listen  and  answer  questions/  And  tak- 
ing his  revolver  I  broke  it  open,  emptied  the 
cylinder,  looked  the  cartridges  over,  slid  the  two 
good  ones  back,  snapped  the  cylinder  into  place, 
all  very  deliberate,  and  very  deliberately  took  a 
seat  on  the  locker  beside  the  bunk  he  lay  in  and 
placed  the  muzzle  against  his  head. 

"  'Now,  Zippy,  my  friend/  I  says,  'take  a  good 
look  at  me — me,  Mister  Cahalan,  bosun's  mate, 
first  class,  United  States  Navy.  No,  no,  straight 
at  me — if  you  can/  And  he  did,  or  as  straight 
as  a  cross-eyed  Jap  could.  'You  know  me? 
Don't  speak — just  bow  your  head.'  He  bowed 
his  head.  'Sure?'  He  bowed  again;  pretty  re- 
spectful, too.  'Well,  in  one,  two,  say  ten — no, 
five  seconds  after  I  give  the  word  I'm  goin'  to 
know  where  Captain  Patten's  money  is,  or  your 
soul  will  be  on  the  way  to  whatever  kind  of  Jap 
hell  is  comin'  to  you.  If  you  don't  know,  that  '11 
206 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "  Bounding  Boy" 

be  your  hard  luck — you  go  just  the  same.  Now, 
think  fast.  Wait  till  we  start  even.  Now!  One 
— two-o — three-e — four-r — f " 

"  'There — under  there — deep  down/  says  Zippy, 
and  points  to  a  barrel  of  flour  among  the  galley 
stores.  Patten  jumped  to  the  flour  barrel,  but  I 
had  to  lean  back  to  press  my  fingers  to  my  throat, 
which  had  tightened  up  some.  For  just  a  second 
I  was  wonderin*  would  Zippy  call  my  little  bluff, 
and  then  what  would  I  done  ?  Would  I  shoot  ? 
I  dunno. 

"Patten  yelled  out  loud — his  money  was  there. 
So  far  all  right.  We  lifted  Zippy  on  deck,  had 
him  call  up  his  chums,  made  'em  make  sail  for  us, 
then  put  them  all  in  the  sampan,  took  it  in  tow,  and 
headed  out  the  harbor.  Ten  miles  out  to  sea  we 
turned  the  sampan  adrift.  An  hour  after  daylight 
old  white-headed  Fujiyama  was  horizon  down, 
and  the  Bounding  Boy  laying  out  a  sweet  ten- 
and-a-half  knots  for  Puget  Sound,  and  for  Puget 
Sound  we  kept  her  headed,  and  never  a  heave-to 
till  we  were  to  anchor  at  Seattle  again." 

Cahalan  paused  in  his  narrative  and  surveyed 
the  quarter-deck  below.  The  doings  of  that  same 
group  of  young  ladies  who  had  won  his  attention 
at  the  beginning  of  his  story  seemed  to  have 
caught  his  attention.  There  was  a  blue-clad,  de- 
lightful one  who  particularly  won  his  admiration. 
207 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

"And  even  that  one,"  commented  Cahalan: 
"  Patten  'd  *ve  given  her  thirty  days  in  the  brig — 
and  ten  days  of  it  on  bread  and  water — just  for  the 
crime  of  her  ugliness  beside  his  battle-ship  beauty 
— just  because  he  happened  to  see  her  first.  I'm 
not  so  much  blamin*  him  for  that,  but  I  do  blame 
him  for  not  havin*  sense  enough  to  allow  for  the 
natural  bias  after  bein'  a  year  to  sea.  Every  man 
has  a  bias  somewhere  that  he  must  allow  for,  or 
bang!  goes  his  rating.  But  that  man!  A  man 
forty-five  year  old  and  no  more  judgment  than — 
than" — he  looked  about  for  an  extremely  illumi- 
nating comparison — "  than  any  o'  those  apprentice 
boys  loafin'  under  the  turret  there." 

"But  he  saw  her  again  i"  we  asked  him. 

"Saw  her!"  snorted  Cahalan.  "He  ran  all  the 
way  up  from  the  dock — and  his  money  with  him. 
And  me" — he  rubbed  his  chin  and  grinned  slyly 
— "me  after  him." 

"And  she  was  at  Tagen's  still  ?" 

"  She  was.  His  golden-haired  Amazonian  Addie, 
she  was  there,  but  not  now  cashiering  behind  any 
cage.  Not  Addie,  no,  sir.  She  was  married 
now,  and  her  and  her  husband  between  them 
owned  the  hotel  and  the  bar  and  the  restaurant; 
and  the  new  landlord  wasn't  sitting  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves readin*  the  morning  paper  in  his  office. 
Not  him.     And  his  head  bartender  and  his  res- 

208 


The  Cruise  o   the  "Bounding  Boy" 

taurant  cashier  wasn't  doin'  business  without  any 
cash  registers." 

"And  Tagen?" 

"Oh,  Tagen  was  workin'  for  another  man 
down  the  street.  And" — Cahalan  sighed — "he 
must  've  done  a  great  business,  Tagen,  in  the  old 
place,  to  stand  the  drainage  long's  he  did.  For, 
besides  the  seven  months  we'd  been  gone  on  our 
cruise,  they'd  had  the  run  of  the  place  for  two 
years  before  that." 

"And  what  did  the  lady  have  to  say  to  Patten  ?" 

"Well,  there  stood  Patten  afore  the  desk,  and 
there  was  Addie  behind  it.  She'd  about  forgotten 
him,  anybody  could  see,  but  she  gave  him  one  of 
her  mechanical  smiles  and  introduced  him  to  her 
husband,  our  old  friend  the  smooth  Johnnie,  and 
Patten  went  out  to  the  bar  and  hoisted  whiskies 
into  him,  ten  or  twelve,  till  he  got  a  cryin'  jag  on, 
and  then  his  old  friend  Johnnie  said  that  maybe 
he'd  better  go;  and  Patten  went  and  me  with  him, 
but  not  till  I'd  given  Johnnie  one  sweet  one  under 
the  ear  for  old  acquaintance'  sake — a  beaut — 
and  he  was  still  falling  backward  across  the  floor 
when  I  ran  out  after  Patten,  for  of  course  I  had 
to  stand  by  him  now.  At  every  other  step  I  kept 
telling  him  he  was  the  luckiest  dog  alive  not  to  be 
married  to  her.  But  no  use — no  use  to  tell  him 
that  in  a  little  while  the  pair  of  them  would 
209 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

be  sitting  up  nights  tryin'  to  trim  each  other. 
Couldn't  he  see  it  for  himself  ?  But  he  couldn't, 
nor  that  his  thousand  dollars  in  the  minin'  scheme 
was  well  worth  it,  if  with  it  he  got  rid  of  him. 
And  so  all  the  way  along  the  street  till  he  comes 
to  a  gamblin'  joint,  and  there  he  goes  in  and 
drops  all  the  money  he  had  rescued  from  Zippy 
except  what  he'd  given  me.  And  what  harm  but 
I  had  to  try  it  with  my  twelve  hundred  dollars — 
my  share,  double  wages — the  same  that  I'd  in- 
tended to  take  home,  or  the  most  of  it,  anyway,  to 
my  good  old  mother  in  Brooklyn.  But  now  I 
lays  half  of  it  down,  and  wins.  And  lays  what 
I'd  won,  six  hundred  dollars,  down,  and  wins 
again.  Good.  Now  I  had  twenty-four  hundred 
dollars,  and,  happenin'  to  think  that  with  twice 
that  I'd  have  enough  to  buy  the  old  lady  one  of 
those  Jersey  bungalows  I  used  to  see  advertised 
in  the  New  York  Sunday  papers  she  used  to  send 
me,  I  laid  down  the  whole  twenty-four  hundred. 
'That  red  water-line  color  still  looks  good  to  me 
— let  'em  come/  I  says,  and  the  whole  house  stands 
by  to  look.  And" — Cahalan  looked  mournfully 
up  to  the  sky — "they  let  'em  come." 

"And?" 

"And-d  ?"  Cahalan  beautifully  imitated  the  in- 
quiring note  of  the  persistent  questioner.  "I'm 
here  and  still  a  bosun's  mate.     And  my  old  mother 

210 


The  Cruise  o'  the  "Bounding  Boy" 

is  still  living  in  the  middle  of  a  three-decker  in 
Brooklyn  with  twelve  Lithuanians  topside  and  a 
family  named  Wyzinski  on  the  deck  below." 

And  just  then  a  good  sea-going  bugler  poised 
himself  in  the  bulkhead  doorway  and  sounded 
mess-gear,  and  what  more  was  there  to  say  ? 


THE  SEA-FAKER 


The  Sea- Faker 

ALONG  time  since  I  had  landed  on  that  par- 
ticular dock,  and  so  it  happened  that  now, 
for  the  first  time  in  years,  I  saw  him.  No  other 
passengers  took  any  particular  notice  of  him;  and 
no  reason,  not  knowing  his  history,  why  they 
should,  unless  it  were  to  mark  the  humor,  or  pathos, 
of  the  situation — the  short,  fat  man  in  the  com- 
pany's uniform  who  was  so  terribly  busy  driving 
people  toward  the  two  lines  of  rope  converging  to 
the  West  Street  gate — a  fussy,  whiskered  man,  the 
whiskers  untrimmed,  uncombed,  tobacco-stained; 
a  man  with  a  vanishing  shade  of  a  once-fresh 
complexion  and  a  rather  weak-kneed  reminder  of 
a  seaman's  rolling  gait. 
Well,  here  's  about  him: 

There  was  a  passenger  steamer,  one  of  the  big- 
gest of  her  day,  running  between  Liverpool  and 
New  York;  and  one  west-bound  trip  she  ran 
ashore  off  Sambro  Head — off  Halifax,  that  is.  If 
you  have  been  a  student  of  maritime  affairs  and 
are  not  too  young,  you  will  know  at  once  what 
215 


The  Sea-Faker 

wreck  is  meant;  if  not,  or  if  it  was  before  your 
time,  you  will  need  to  be  told  something  of  it. 

It  was  the  most  disgraceful  disaster  in  steamship 
history.  There  were  nine  hundred  passengers  on 
that  ship.  Six  hundred  were  lost.  Nine  hundred 
passengers,  and  not  one  woman  passenger  saved; 
and  only  one  child — a  little  boy  whose  uncle  took 
him  on  his  back  and  swam  ashore  with  him.  The 
ship's  company  were  saved — that  is,  pretty  much. 
Probably  nobody  at  all  would  have  been  saved  but 
for  a  seaman  who  took  a  line  when  she  struck  and 
carried  it  to  the  lighthouse  people  on  the  beach. 
He  was  that  same  little  boy's  uncle. 

Now,  directing  the  course  of  the  ship  at  the  time 
was  a  pilot,  but  on  the  bridge  also  was  a  ship's 
officer.  The  pilot  was  giving  the  course  to  the  man 
at  the  wheel,  when  the  ship's  officer  changed  it. 
The  pilot  protested,  but  the  watch  officer  was  one 
of  those  men  who  know  it  all.  He  butted  in  again, 
and  up  on  the  rocks  went  the  big  liner.  It  was 
thick  of  snow  at  the  time  and  a  cold  night.  Those 
of  the  six  hundred  who  were  not  drowned  were 
frozen  to  death. 

The  investigation  which  followed  cleared  the 
pilot  and  broke  the  second  officer,  though  breaking 
him  was  little  consolation  to  the  families  of  those 
six  hundred  drowned  people.     Very  little. 

Some  one  may  ask  if  that  is  all  that  ever  hap- 
216 


The  Sea-Faker 

pened.  It  is.  That's  maritime  law.  Queer  kinks 
in  maritime  law.  If  a  motorman  should  run  over 
your  child,  or  anybody  else,  drunk  or  sober,  you 
can  send  him  to  jail;  but  the  drunken  or  incompe- 
tent ship's  officer  can  lose  a  thousand  lives,  and  all 
that  happens  to  him  is  that  he  loses  his  job.  Lots 
of  other  funny  little  things  about  marine  laws. 

But  to  get  back  to  the  wreck.  It  happened  that 
the  man  at  the  wheel  was  a  fellow  named  Batkins, 
who  had  served  many  a  year  before  the  mast, 
served  his  time  over  and  over,  and  might  have  been 
serving  it  yet  only  for  that  wreck.  They  sum- 
moned him  as  a  witness  in  the  investigation;  and 
he  lied  for  them;  lied  not  intelligently,  but  stub- 
bornly, stolidly  —  by  the  hour.  He  had  heard 
nothing,  seen  nothing,  knew  nothing  of  this  offi- 
cer's interference  with  the  pilot.  What  he  said 
was  controverted  by  the  other  man  on  the  bridge, 
the  man  who  later  swam  ashore  with  the  line. 
They  believed  the  other  fellow,  sustained  the  pilot 
and  broke  the  ship's  officer;  but  Batkins  had  es- 
tablished himself  with  the  company  as  the  kind 
of  a  servant  they  wanted,  and  not  long  after  he 
was  quietly  made  a  fourth  officer.  The  sea  man 
who  told  the  truth  was  fired.  So  far  as  this  story 
is  concerned,  no  further  matter  what  became  of 
him.  He  was  an  adventurer,  anyway,  and  one 
berth  fitted  him  as  well  as  another.  No  need  to 
217 


The  Sea-Faker 

worry  about  him,  but  I  might  say  that  he  was 
my  uncle  and  I  the  little  boy  he  swam  ashore  with. 
This  is  to  explain  how  I  came  to  know  so  much 
about  that  wreck;  and  also  how  I  came  to  keep 
track  of  Batkins. 

To  get  on :  Now  we  have  Batkins  the  subordinate 
officer;  and  a  good  subordinate  he  was,  as  subor- 
dinates are  measured  in  his  company's  office.  He 
had  committed  perjury  to  help  out  the  company, 
and  when  by  any  chance  he  was  called  into  the 
office  he  showed  by  his  words  and  bearing  that  the 
company's  law  was  his  law — always.  And  he 
salved  the  vanity  of  the  company's  topsiders  beau- 
tifully by  the  way  he  kotowed;  and  he  didn't  put 
that  part  of  it  on.  No  hypocrisy  in  that.  He  just 
naturally  believed  that  some  people  were  born  to 
high  places  and  others  to  low  places.  He  came 
from  that  kind  of  people.  If  he  had  been  born  on 
some  gentleman's  estate  up  in  middle  England  in- 
stead of  down  near  the  Liverpool  docks,  then,  no 
doubt  of  it,  he  would  have  made  the  finest  kind  of 
an  under-servant.  People  with  souls  like  that  do 
sometimes  take  to  the  sea  and  rise  to  command, 
but,  thank  the  Lord,  not  too  often. 

Well,  Batkins  was  promoted.    Third,  second, 

first  officer;  and,  in  time,  the  company  developing 

and  new  ships  building  fast,  he  gets  his  command. 

And  hardly  does  he  get  his  command  than  he  hap- 

218 


The  Sea-Faker 

pens  along  while  a  ship,  a  tramp  steamer,  is  sink- 
ing in  mid-ocean,  and  takes  off  her  crew.  That  is, 
there  being  a  little  sea  on,  he  calls  for  volunteers; 
and  a  nervy  fellow,  his  third  officer,  jumps  into  a 
boat  with  half  a  dozen  men  and  they  row  over  and 
take  her  crew  off.  Coming  alongside,  the  skipper 
of  the  sinking  ship  has  his  leg  broken,  and  be- 
tween that  and  the  long  exposure  on  his  wrecked 
ship  he  dies  aboard  Captain  Batkins  ship  even  as 
his  own  ship  goes  down. 

That  striking  incident,  the  taking  of  people  off  a 
leaking  ship  in  mid-ocean, .impressed  the  passengers 
(the  mid-ocean  touch  always  does  impress  people), 
and  that  captain  dying  as  his  own  ship  went  down 
tempted  the  newspapers,  and  they  played  it  up 
in  great  shape;  made  terrible  weather  of  it — a  gale 
of  wind  and  mountainous  seas — and  in  the  storm- 
centre  of  it  all  they  put  the  "calm-eyed  Captain 
Batkins.,, 

And  he  was  given  a  banquet  and  loving-cup,  and 
he  made  a  speech.  You  can  picture  him  as  he 
stood  up  to  make  his  speech,  one  hand  stilling  the 
applause  and  the  other  clutching  his  wineglass. 
"No,  no,  gentlemen,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  I  am  a 
hero.  What  man,  indeed,  can  say  that  of  himself? 
But  as  one  of  a  small  corps  of  men  leading  lives 
of — k-h-m — well,  continual  peril,  as  one  might  say, 
one — k-h-m — one  learns  to  look  on  such  things  as 
219 


The  Sea-Faker 

part  of  the  day's  work.  And  after  all,  gentle- 
men, I  only  done  my  duty."  Whereat  another  pop- 
eyed  imbecile  jumped  up  and  thanked  God  there 
were  still  men  who  knew  how  to  do  their  duty. 
And  the  band  played,  and  there  was  cheering 
enough  to  call  the  policeman  in  from  his  beat. 

Now,  at  the  end  of  the  head  table  was  young 
Willie  Carrick.  Willie  had  been  invited  because 
of  his  father,  and  I  had  gone  because  Willie  had 
asked  me  to,  and  now  Willie  blurted  out — he 
couldn't  help  it,  "Will  somebody  tell  me  what 
that  fat-necked  pickerel  did  that  was  heroic?" 
"What's  that?"  asked  half  a  dozen  horrified  ones. 
"What's  what?"  snapped  Willie.  "As  near  as  I 
can  make  out  he  stood  on  the  bridge  while  another 
lot  of  chaps  got  into  a  boat  and  did  the  job.  Fifty 
feet  above  the  water-line  he  was,  taking  about  as 
much  chance  as  if  he  was  on  the  quarter-deck  of 
a  Broadway  trolley  car  in  a  shower  of  rain. 
Where's  the  third  officer  who  took  them  off  in 
the  lifeboat? — that's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"But  his  superb  seamanship!"  says  one. 

"Superb  slop,"  says  Willie.  "Turning  a  ship 
around  ?  Why,  every  time  my  chauffeur  turns  his 
car  around  he's  doing  a  damn  sight  more  difficult 
job,  for  he  hasn't  the  whole  ocean  to  turn  it  in. 
And  more  dangerous,  for  if  he  doesn't  look  out 
some  trolley  car  will  come  along  and  bump  him 

220 


The  Sea- Faker 

good.  What  in  the  devil  did  he  do  ?"  asks  Willie 
again. 

"But  it  was  rough  weather,  Mr.  Carrick  ?" 

"  Rough,  was  it  ?  It  couldn't  have  been  too 
rough  for  a  big  ship  when  a  thirty-foot  boat  lived 
in  it,  could  it  ?  No  ?  Then  what  in  the  devil  did 
hedo?,, 

And  when  they  came  to  think  it  over,  a  lot  of 
them  there,  being  moderately  intelligent  men, 
wanted  to  know  what  he  did  do  after  all.  But 
no  matter — by  that  time  the  papers  had  printed 
full  reports  of  the  dinner,  and  Batkins  was  a  great 
fellow.  And  the  advertising  didn't  do  the  com- 
pany any  harm. 

Well,  some  time  afterward  Willie  and  I  were 
slated  to  go  to  the  Mediterranean  together,  but 
Willie  got  me  to  wait  till  Miss  Kaylor  and  her 
mother  were  going;  which  was  all  right,  only  they 
happened  to  take  passage  on  Batkins's  ship. 
"Lord,  Lord!"  groaned  Willie,  but  there  was 
nothing  for  us  but  to  go  on  her  just  the  same. 

We  had  kept  track  of  Batkins,  but  it  was  the 
first  time  we  had  either  of  us  seen  him  to  speak  to 
since  the  presentation;  and  he  had  already  grown 
into  one  of  those  captains  that  you  have  to  have  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  every  time  you  meet  him, 
unless  you  were  of  important  people — like  Willie. 
When  he  spied  Willie  it  was,  "Oh,  Mr.  Carrick! 
221 


The  Sea-Faker 

Come  up  here,  won't  you?"  It  was  from  the 
bridge  he  called  out,  just  after  he  dropped  the 
pilot.  But  Willie  walked  back  down  the  prome- 
nade deck  pretending  not  to  have  heard  him. 
"The  big  sausage!"  said  Willie.  "I  s'pose  we'll 
have  to  spend  half  our  time  trying  to  dodge  him 
now." 

But  Willie  could  not  dodge  him — Willie's  father 
had  too  large  a  say  in  the  company's  affairs.  That 
very  evening  he  had  us  into  his  cabin.  There 
were  five  or  six  other  passengers  there,  Miss  Kay- 
lor  and  her  mother  among  them.  The  famous 
loving-cup  was  on  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
and,  naturally,  somebody  had  to  ask  him  about  it. 
And  he  swung  around  on  his  swivel  chair  and 
started  right  in.  "A  plain  seaman's  yarn,"  he 
said,  by  way  of  beginning,  and  then  he  went  on. 
That  yarn  had  grown  and  grown;  so  that  if  he 
had  only  had  a  little  more  imagination,  he  would 
have  made  an  epic  of  the  sea  of  it.  Not  only  that 
night,  but  every  night  after  dinner  it  was  the  same 
— the  choice  company  invited  into  the  captain's 
cabin  and  somebody  sure  to  ask  about  the  cup, 
and  then  Batkins  starting  in  on  the  story.  By 
this  time  he  had  been  talking  about  it  three  years 
steadily,  and  the  tears,  especially  if  he  had  three 
or  four  highballs  in  him,  used  to  come  to  his  eyes 
as  he  went  on. 

222 


The  Sea-Faker 

We  used  to  study  him,  Carrick  and  myself,  when 
we  had  nothing  better  to  do.  Mind  you,  aboard 
ship  he  was  a  great  man.  No  kotowing  here  the 
same  as  when  he  went  up  to  the  company's  office 
to  report.  Remember  that  for  thirty  years  or 
more  he  had  been  buckling  under  to  somebody 
else,  but  no  more  of  that  now.  He's  captain  now. 
No  longer  does  he  have  to  stand  four  hours'  watch 
in  a  dry  nor' west  blizzard,  cold  enough  to  freeze 
your  marrow,  nor  in  a  north-east  snow-storm 
slushy  enough  to  keep  you  from  breathing  almost. 
No  longer  does  he  have  to  turn  out  for  any  night 
watch  or  morning  watch  unless  he  feels  like  it. 
No  more  the  stress  of  duty  which  might  have  kept 
the  salt  in  his  blood  and  the  marrow  in  his  bones. 
He  just  does  not  have  to  do  anything  now  that  he 
doesn't  feel  like  doing,  except  stand  on  the  bridge 
with  the  pilot  leaving  port  and  going  into  port,  and 
he  probably  liked  to  do  that. 

Mornings  he  used  to  walk  down  the  promenade 
deck,  and  never  would  Carrick  see  him  coming 
but  he  would  begin  to  jibe.  "Here's  his  game," 
Carrick  would  say,  "on  these  fine  sunny  morn- 
ings, when  the  sea-dogs  of  saloon  passengers  are 
stretched  out  in  their  steamer-chairs  with  rugs  to 
their  chins  and  books  in  their  laps.  See  him 
now  ?  He's  stoppin'  and  speakin'  here  and  there, 
to  those  he  thinks  worth  while,  and  that's  what 
223 


The  Sea-Faker 

pleases  'em.  But  do  you  know  what  I  think, 
Boynton  ? "  We  were  leaning  over  the  rail — a 
beautiful  day  and  the  fascinating  Azores  ahead. 
"I  think  he's  trying  to  make  a  hit  with  the  old 
lady — with  Mrs.  Kaylor,  yes."  Mrs.  Kaylor  was 
a  widow  with  a  few  millions  and  Batkins  was  a 
widower. 

"No,  no,  Willie — he's  too  raw  to  attract  her,  too 
raw." 

"Don't  you  be  too  sure.  This  is  her  third  trip 
on  this  ship.  Do  you  know  what  she  was  saying 
to  me  yesterday  after  he'd  done  his  promenade  ? 
'Why,  the  idea  of  that  bluff  old  sea-dog  who  faces 
the  perils  of  the  sea,  the  man  on  whose  courage 
and  seamanship  may  depend  all  our  lives — why, 
to  think  of  that  old  sea-dog  stopping  in  the  midst 
of  his  tremendous  responsibilities  and  talking 
about  ordinary  things,  isn't  it  wonderful?'  I 
think  she's  getting  soft  over  him — yes.  The  day 
before  he  told  her  his  stock  story  of  Davy  Jones's 
locker,  wriggling  his  eyebrows  while  he  was  tell- 
ing it — and  why,  he  was  just  the  delightfulest, 
jolliest,  drollest  old  sea-dog  ever  was — yes.  What 
do  green  young  things  like  you  and  me  know  what 
an  impressionable  woman  will  do  when  she's 
caught  on  her  romantic  side  ?  The  day  before 
that,  the  rainy  day,  when  he  walked  along  the 
deck  in  his  dripping  sou'wester  and  slicker,  the 
224 


The  Sea-Faker 

sea-water  drippin'  from  his  whiskers,  why  she 
knew  he  was  the  stuff  heroes  are  made  of.  Yes, 
indeed;  did  he  not  look  it?  How'd  you  like  to 
be  sitting  in  the  next  chair  and  have  to  listen  to 
his  tales  of  the  danger  of  crossing  the  Atlantic  ? 
Danger — in  a  ship  this  size!  About  as  dangerous 
as  crossing  Central  Park  in  a  rowboat!  But  his 
getting  away  with  it — the  old  sausage !" 

The  Kaylors'  and  Carrick's  chairs  were  together, 
which  gave  Batkins,  when  he  got  through  buzzing 
Mrs.  Kaylor,  a  chance  to  talk  to  Carrick,  if  he  and 
Miss  Kaylor  hadn't  escaped  when  his  back  was 
turned.  When  Carrick  got  caught  like  that  he 
would  fly  distress  signals,  at  which  I  used  to  send 
hurry-up  messages  to  him  and  Miss  Kaylor  from 
the  other  end  of  the  deck.  And  Miss  Kaylor  used 
to  be  very  grateful,  though  sometimes  she  thought 
she  ought  to  stand  guard  by  mamma.  When  her 
conscience  pained  her  like  that,  Willie  would  leave 
her  and  join  me  in  the  chief  engineer's  room. 

The  chief,  Carrick,  and  I  had  met  before,  and 
the  chief  would  make  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  afternoon 
or  maybe  have  down  a  bottle  of  stout  of  an  even- 
ing, when  we  used  to  sit  in  on  him  till  he  had  to 
turn  in;   but  he  would  sit  up  late  enough  at  that. 

The  chief,  Gilford  his  name,  was  quite  a  chap. 
We  had  both  known  him  a  long  time.  He  was  not 
the  regular  chief  engineer  of  the  ship.  In  fact,  he 
225 


The  Sea-Faker 

hated  the  ship  and  had  no  use  for  her  master,  and 
was  forever  bewailing  the  luck  which  had  sent  him 
aboard,  even  for  this  one  trip.  "When  the  people 
that  know  the  least  about  a  man  tell  you  he  is  a 
great  chap,  and  those  that  know  the  most  about 
him  tell  you  he  is  an  awful  fake,  then  you  want  to 
watch  out  for  him,"  says  Gifford.  An  outspoken 
man,  Gifford,  with  a  great  pride  in  his  profession. 
"On  sailin'-ships  look  for  the  men  handlin'  the 
sails;  on  steamers  look  for  the  men  in  charge  o' 
the  steam.  These  heroes  o'  the  bridge,  they're 
makin'  a  laughin'  stock  o'  us  in  the  eyes  o'  them 
that  knows.  A  pilot  takes  us  out  o'  port  on  one 
end  and  a  pilot  takes  us  into  port  on  the  other, 
and  there's  three  thousand  miles  o'  clear  water  in 
between.  Where's  the  danger,  barrin'  collision,  so 
long  as  we  c'n  keep  our  steam  up  ? " 

"It's  fair  sickenin',"  went  on  Gifford  another 
day,  "to  listen  to  some  o'  them.  I'm  namin'  no 
names;  but  here  we  are,  one  o'  the  biggest  ships 
afloat,  and  now  and  again  we  run  through  a  gale  o' 
wind  an'  a  bit  o'  sea.  Two  trips  ago  and  that  was 
the  case,  and  what  followed  ?  Why,  the  passen- 
gers they  gets  together  and  pass  resolutions  testi- 
fyin'  to  the  heroism  and  seamanship  o'  the  captain 
and  officers.  Why,  man,  there  was  never  a  sea 
came  out  o'  the  ocean  can  hurt  a  5,000-ton  ship — 
not  'less  they're  drunk  or  foolish  on  the  bridge,  or, 
226 


The  Sea-Faker 

o'  course,  something  gone  wrong  below.  It  makes 
me  fair  sick,  the  foolishness  o'  them.  Why,  if 
we're  heroes,  then  what  about  those  little  fishin' 
smacks  we  passes  on  the  Banks  ?  Why,  they're 
not  a  hundred  feet  in  len'th,  most  of  'em,  an'  their 
rail  no  higher  out  o'  water  than  that,"  and  Gifford 
put  his  hand  on  a  level  with  his  knee,  "  an'  they're 
out  there  through  all  the  gales  that  ever  blew. 
An'  if  we're  heroes — five,  six,  seven  hundred  feet 
long — what  o'  them  ?  Their  very  mast-heads  no 
higher  than  our  bridge — what  o'  them  ?  They  ha' 
no  ten  or  twenty  or  forty  thousand  horsepower. 
They  ha'  to  fight  the  wind  wi'  the  power  o'  the 
wind  itself,  an'  they  do.  And  if  we're  heroes, 
what  o'  them  ?  But  they're  real  sailors  an'  won't 
stand  for  that  kind  o'  gush,  but  it's  spoilin'  us. 
No,  sir,  no  harm  can  come  to  a  good-sized  steamer 
on  the  ocean  these  days  'less  by  collision — not  if 
she's  well  found." 

"Well,  this  one  is  well  found,"  says  Carrick, 
"and  thank  God  for  it!" 

"Is  she?"  Gifford  looked  at  Carrick.  "Wi' 
all  due  respect  to  you,  Mr.  Carrick,  an'  your 
father's  property — she  could  be  better  found." 

"What's  wrong?"  asked  Carrick. 

"What's  always  wrong  if  there's  nobody  to 
watch  out?  When  the  old  company  sold  out  to 
you  they  sold  you  many  a  ship  that  needs  over- 
227 


The  Sea-Faker 

haulin\  But  there's  no  need  to  worry — an'  here's 
Ned." 

Ned  was  Baldwin,  the  third  officer  then,  but 
second  officer  at  this  time,  who  had  done  the  rescue 
work  for  which  Captain  Batkins,  as  commander, 
had  been  given  the  loving  cup. 

"Suppose  I  go  down  now  and  look  at  that  boiler- 
bed,"  said  Baldwin.  "Maybe  I  can  dig  out  some 
gear  to  strap  it  down  with." 

"A  little  thing  wrong  in  the  boiler-room,"  ex- 
plained Gifford,  and  went  off  with  Baldwin. 

We  were  all  in  our  bunks  that  night  when  there 
set  in  a  gale  which  stayed  with  us  for  two  days  and 
nights.  And  after  the  wind  came  the  sea.  The 
ship  was  rolling  unaccountably  at  times,  and  as 
rumors  were  creeping  around  the  deck  withal, 
Carrick  and  I  thought  that  perhaps  we  had  better 
go  down  and  have  a  word  with  our  friend,  the 
chief  engineer,  even  though  we  knew  he  would  be 
busy. 

There  was  surely  something  wrong,  and  Carrick 
was  becoming  worried  for  the  safety  of  Miss  Kay- 
lor  and  her  mother.  He  wanted  to  bring  them,  if 
not  a  reassuring,  at  least  an  intelligent  message. 
"  But  maybe  Gifford  or  Baldwin  will  tell  us  some- 
thing," he  said. 

Gifford  was  not  in  his  usual  place,  and  no  sign 
of  Baldwin.  So  we  went  below,  and  came  on 
228 


The  Sea-Faker 

them  back-to.  "I  give  you  steam  and  you  can't 
keep  her  head-to — what's  wrong?"  GifFord  was 
saying.  "She's  kept  head-to  when  I'm  on  the 
bridge  all  right,"  answered  Baldwin. 

At  this  time  the  ship  was  in  the  trough  of  the  sea 
and  rolling  over,  and  even  while  we  were  rinding 
our  way  down  the  iron  ladders  she  rolled  so  far 
over  that  we  thought  she  was  going  on  her  beam 
ends.  But  she  did  not;  but  before  she  had  done 
she  rolled  far  enough  down  to  loosen  her  boiler- 
heads.  Carrick  and  I  were  there  when  it  hap- 
pened— no  joke  that.  No;  but  she  was  still  one 
of  the  biggest  ships  afloat  and  she  would  have  to 
fill  up  before  she  would  go  down.  And  no  great 
danger  of  that  as  yet;  though  if  her  boilers  were 
not  secured  again  there  was  danger  of  their  piling 
through  the  side  of  the  ship.  That  would  have 
fixed  her,  of  course.  But  there  was  the  chief  en- 
gineer on  the  job  and  a  couple  of  good  assistants. 
They  were  there  to  prevent  a  thing  like  that,  or 
anything  like  it.     And  they  were  doing  it. 

A  day  and  a  night  before  GifFord  and  his  force 
got  things  straightened  out  through  it  all.  Car- 
rick stayed,  only  leaving  to  carry  calming  messages 
to  Miss  Kaylor  and  her  mother.  And  things  were 
now  looking  so  right  we  thought  we  would  soon 
be  on  our  way  again,  when  this  something  else 
happened.  Her  boiler  and  engine  room  suddenly 
229 


The  Sea-Faker 

began  to  fill  up.  In  short  order  it  was  a  foot  deep, 
and  that  forced  Gifford  to  draw  his  fires  and  ease 
off  his  steam,  and  with  that  the  ship  at  once  fell 
into  the  trough  of  the  sea  and  began  to  roil.  She 
had  been  rolling  some  before,  but  now  she  began 
to  roll  for  fair.  A  dozen  times  or  so  we  thought 
she  would  roll  over  entirely.  And  water,  water, 
nothing  but  water  in  her  engine  and  boiler  rooms, 
and  mounting  higher.  GifFord  was  working  like  a 
fiend.  At  last  he  felt  sure  it  was  not  a  leaky  seam, 
but  a  broken  valve.  There  was  so  much  loose 
water  in  her  that  they  could  not  see  what  was  doing 
underneath,  but  GifFord  placed  the  cause  at  last 
and  roused  out  his  division  and  put  them  on  the 
job.  "Go  down  there,  you  bullies,,,  he  yells, 
"  an*  hunt  for  that  hole,  and  when  you  find  it  plug 
it  up — and  good  and  tight! "  And  down  they  went, 
and  you  can  imagine  them — stripped  to  their 
waists,  all  black  with  coal-dust  and  muck,  and  the 
black  sea-water  rising  higher  and  higher  about 
them.  And  then  comes  Baldwin  with  a  message 
from  the  skipper.  "Somebody's  been  to  him 
with  a  tale  of  how  things  are  going  down  here — 
he's  talking  of  the  boats,"  says  Baldwin. 

"The  boats — good  God,  man!"  exploded  Gif- 
ford.    "We've  drifted  out  o'  the  track  o'  steamers 
and  we're  a  hundred  miles  or  so  off  shore.     We've 
a  full  complement — three  thousand  souls  aboard — 
230 


The  Sea-Faker 

an'  the  boats  won't  hold  more  than  a  third  o'  the 
passengers." 

"  I  told  him  all  that  and,  further,  that  the  boats 
wouldn't  live  twenty-four  hours — that  another 
storm  was  comin'." 

"An*  what  did  he  say?" 

"He  said,  'And  who  said  there's  to  be  a  storm  ?' 
'My  judgment,  sir,'  I  answers.  And  he  says,  'Is 
your  judgment  or  mine  to  prevail  on  this  ship  ?" 

"Go  back,"  says  GifFord,  "an'  tell  him  we'll  be 
all  right  in  an  hour  or  two,  but  don't  let  him  come 
down  if  you  c'n  stop  him!"  And  Baldwin  starts 
back,  but  meets  his  captain  on  the  way  to  the 
engine-room. 

And  GifFord — without  sleep  for  three  days  and 
nights  now — GifFord,  black-faced  and  red-eyed, 
waited  his  captain's  coming.  "Aye,  you're  comin' 
— an'  for  what  good  ?  A  good  seaman  you  may  ha' 
been  once,  but  what  now?  How  long  since  you 
stood  a  full  watch — the  very  marrow  o'  your  soul 
gone  to  rot!  No  more  than  the  head  porter  of  a 
floatin'  hotel  you've  become!  Aye,  an'  more  of 
us  will  become  flunkys  like  you  if  we  don't  watch 
out." 

So  GifFord  waits,  sullen  as  could  be.  And  down 
the  ladder  comes  Batkins.  Soft  and  flabby 
enough  he  looked.  A  long  time  since  he  was  faced 
with  a  man's  work,  and  now  his  eyes  roamed  un- 

231 


The  Sea- Faker 

certainly.  He  and  the  chief  engineer  had  not  hit 
it  off  well  from  the  hour  they  left  the  dock.  There 
was  a  look  in  this  temporary  chief  engineer's  eyes 
that  Batkins  didn't  quite  like. 

Captain  Batkins  was  standing  on  the  grating 
now  and  looking  down.  It  was  pretty  black  down 
there  and  he  did  not  take  it  all  in  at  once;  but 
when  he  did,  when  he  saw  below  him  those  stokers, 
a  lot  of  black,  naked  devils,  plunging  one  after  the 
other  into  the  sea-water,  and  the  sea-water,  black 
as  ink  most  of  it,  rushing,  just  rushing  in  from 
some  hole  or  whatever  it  was  through  the  ship's 
side,  and  getting  higher  and  higher  and  it  then  to 
the  men's  waists,  he  rolls  his  eyes  and  yells, "  We're 
lost!  My  God,  we're  lost!  The  boats!"  like 
somebody  on  the  stage. 

And  the  chief,  directing  his  men,  looks  across  at 
him  and  yells,  "What!"  And  the  men  look  up 
and  see  who  it  is — the  captain  himself.  Great 
Lord,  where  the  captain  quits!  Not  a  word  out 
of  them,  but  like  one  man  they  jump  for  the  lad- 
ders and  the  free  air,  where  a  man  could  fight  for 
his  life  when  she  went  down.  They  would  have 
got  away  too,  only  the  chief  picks  up  a  spanner  or 
something,  long  as  your  arm,  and  catches  the  first 
chap  a  crack  over  the  head,  and  the  second  man, 
and  the  third,  and  the  fourth,  and  the  fifth,  and 
says,  "Now,  you  whelps'  sons,  go  down  and  finish 
232 


The  Sea-Faker 

that  job ! "  And  they,  more  afraid  of  the  chief  and 
his  long,  heavy  spanner  than  any  other  kind  of 
sudden  death  just  then,  they  drop  below  and  begin 
to  paw  around  in  that  black  mess  again.  And  the 
chief  turns  to  Baldwin  and  says,  "Ned,  what 
d'  y'say  if  we  take  that  old  granny  an' lock  him  up  ? 
Law's  law,  of  course,  an'  discipline's  discipline, 
but  three  thousand  lives  they're  worth  more  than 
my  ticket  an'  yours.  What  d'  y'  say?"  And 
Baldwin  stops  to  think.  Being  a  bridge  officer  is 
a  little  different  from  being  in  the  engine-room  in 
a  matter  like  that;  but  Carrick  breaks  in,  "Yes, 
why  don't  you  ?"  at  which  Baldwin  says,  "Maybe 
it's  the  only  thing  to  do,  after  all,"  and  grabs  the 
skipper  and  hustles  him  into  the  chief's  room. 

Now,  somebody  may  ask,  but  wasn't  that  mu- 
tiny? It  was,  assault  and  battery  added,  for 
Baldwin  threw  him  into  the  room  any  old  way. 
And  Carrick  helped.  "In  with  you,  you  overfed 
bologna!"  And  if  you'd  seen  Batkins  looking  at 
Carrick  when  he  heard  that! 

They  kept  Batkins  locked  up  till  it  was  time  to 
take  the  bridge  going  into  port.  And  he  wasn't 
too  thick-witted  to  see  where  it  left  him;  for  not 
only  the  engineer's  but  some  of  the  deck  force 
had  seen  him  hustled  away,  and  when  they  reached 
the  home  port  he  preferred  charges  against  Gifford 
and  Baldwin — to  save  his  face,  that  was.    And  the 

233 


The  Sea-Faker 

company,  which  had  to  go  on  record  as  standing 
behind  its  own  captain,  backed  him  up. 

Gifford  and  Baldwin  were  put  ashore;  but  no 
need  to  worry  about  them.  Carrick  saw  to  it  that 
their  story  reached  headquarters.  He  felt  im- 
mensely grateful  to  them  for  showing  Batkins  up. 
"Imagine  that  Cheshire  cheese  for  a  father-in- 
law!"  he  said,  and  saw  to  it  that  they  were  as- 
signed to  the  next  new  ship  which  went  into 
commission,  which  was  all  they  wanted.  Batkins 
could  have  the  name,  but  give  them  the  good  billets. 

As  very  few  of  the  passengers  really  knew  what 
happened — Carrick  wasn't  knocking  his  own 
father's  property — the  company  gave  out  a  fine 
story  about  the  last  great  work  of  their  favorite 
captain,  one  of  their  old  and  tried  servants,  and  he 
became  a  hero  again.  And  to  drown  the  noise  of 
a  queer  kind  of  rumor  that  something  about  the 
wreck  wasn't  all  right,  they  gave  him  another  ban- 
quet and  another  cup,  and  he  made  another  speech, 
and  the  public  forgot  the  rumor.  And  when  they 
had  also  forgotten  a  lot  about  him,  the  company 
quietly  shifted  him  to  a  freighter,  to  bring  up  the 
standard  of  the  freight  service,  they  explained; 
and  after  he  had  been  there  awhile  they  even  more 
unobtrusively  gave  him  a  shore  job  where  he 
couldn't  do  any  harm,  and  after  another  period 
they  dropped  him  off  the  pay-roll  entirely. 

234 


The  Sea-Faker 

And  then  he  went  to  the  bad.  Drink,  mostly. 
And  it  was  Carrick  who  took  him  out  of  the  gutter 
and  made  his  father  give  him  the  job  he's  now  got. 
On  days  when  he  isn't  marshalling  passengers 
between  the  lines  of  rope,  you  can  find  him  out  at 
the  West  Street  entrance  armed  with  a  long  stick. 
His  job  there  is  to  keep  the  irreverent  West  Side 
boys  from  invading  the  sacred  precincts.  Every 
now  and  then,  Carrick  says,  some  old  passengers 
see  him  and,  recollecting  him,  take  him  out  to 
dinner,  and  then — especially  if  he  gets  two  or  three 
highballs  into  him — the  old  fellow  spouts  of  his 
great  days  as  an  ocean-liner  commander.  And 
once  in  a  while  he  is  written  up  in  the  newspapers, 
which  call  attention  to  him  once  more,  and  "What 
a  great  chap  he  must  have  been!"  you  can  hear 
somebody  say.  And  it  is  possible  that  he  himself 
believes  by  this  time  that  he  was  a  great  man  once. 

The  word  hero  is  still  a  fine  word;  but  I  never 
read  about  one  of  these  steamship  heroes  that  I 
don't  wonder  if  he's  a  Batkins.  I  know  that  there 
are  plenty  of  fine  steamship  commanders — plenty 
of  them,  of  the  finest;  but  we  don't  see  that  kind 
standing  for  a  two-column  write-up  after  every 
breeze  of  wind  they  come  through — not  when  his 
ship  is  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  long. 


235 


HEROES 


Heroes 

DINNIE  tucked  the  stowaway  under  the 
blanket.  "Squeeze  in  by  the  ship's  side, 
b'y.  That's  it — that's  the  good  b'y.  But  will 
you" — Dinnie  turned  to  his  mate — "take  a  look 
at  the  size  of  him,  Geordie  ?" 

Geordie  took  a  look.  "Oh,  aye,  Dinnie,"  and 
went  off  in  a  roar.  "The  littleness  'f  'im,  Dinnie. 
And  stowed  away  in  there — ho,  ho,  Dinnie ! — 'e's 
like,  like  the  larst  little  bloater  in  the  corner  o' 
the  box!" 

"'Tis  more  a  sardine  size  I'd  say  he  was, 
Geordie.  But  he'll  be  all  right  soon.  Won't 
you,  b'y  ?  Sure  you  will.  That's  the  lad.  Look 
at  the  shmile  of  him  now,  Geordie." 

"Ay,  but  so  frightened  like,  Dinnie." 

"And  why  wouldn't  he  be? — not  knowin' 
what's  goin'  to  happen  to  him,  the  poor  lad. 
But  wouldn't  you  think,  Geordie,  wouldn't  you 
think  now,  when  his  father  died  in  survice,  as  you 
might  say,  they'd  be  givin'  the  lad  a  free  passage 
home  ?  But  no  matther  now.  We've  got  him 
through  the  furst  night  annyway,  and  who  knows 

239 


Heroes 

maybe  we'll  get  him  all  the  way  across  and  no 
ship's  officer  the  wiser.  'Twould  be  fine,  though, 
could  we  be  payin'  the  passage  money  oursel's, 
wouldn't  it,  Geordie?  Sure  and  it  would;  but 
we  couldn't  hardly  be  doin'  that  on  our  wages. 
But  maybe  we'd  betther  be  goin'  below,  Geordie. 
And  till  we  be  comin'  back" — he  held  a  finger  up 
to  the  stowaway — "no  n'ise,  b'y,  no  n'ise." 

"Ay,  lad,"  affirmed  Geordie,  "no  noise,  lad; 
for  it's  watch  and  watch,  y'  know,  and  when  we 
goes  they  comes.  And  not  always  in  the  best 
bloody  temper.  Four  hours  of  'eavin  coal  into  a 
row  of  bloody  fire-boxes — it  don't  go  to  the  makin' 
of  a  'eavenly  temper,  do  it,  Dinnie  ? " 

"Har-r-dly,  Geordie,  har-r-dly.  But  let  us  go 
below  now.'! 


II 

Away  down  below  in  that  boiler  compartment 
next  the  bottom  of  the  ship  Dinnie  and  Geordie 
shovelled  and  raked,  sliced  and  panted  and 
sweated.  Good  workers  this  pair.  No  need  for 
the  watch  officer  to  bother  them;  but  there  were 
those  who  had  to  be  driven,  who  staggered  and 
swayed  as  they  worked,  and  gave  much  back  talk, 
which  made  for  bad  feeling.  It  may  have  been 
that  they  were  still  weak,  or  it  may  have  been 
240 


Heroes 

that  they  intended  to  do  no  more  for  the  com- 
pany than  they  had  to;  perhaps  just  off  a  drunk. 
Perhaps  so.  However,  now  in  the  first  morning 
watch  of  the  trip  they  looked  gray  and  sick,  and 
staggered  between  furnaces. 

An  hour  and  a  half  of  steady  going  and  Geordie 
stepped  over  for  a  drink  of  water,  and  as  he  was 
drinking  a  steward  looked  in  for  the  engineer  on 
watch,  who  happened  not  to  be  there  just  then. 
Now  stewards  are  a  superior  class  aboard  ship. 
Naturally. 

Conversation  between  the  two  classes  is  not 
always  sweet-tempered,  but  now  and  then  a  trust- 
ing stoker  hopes  to  meet  a  civil  steward,  as  now. 
"Hi  s'y,  stooard,  is  't  foggy  as  they  say  outside  i" 
asked  Geordie,  very  politely. 

"Hi  don't  know  'ow  foggy  they  said  it  was," 
replied  the  steward  wittily,  and  rushed  off. 

"You  don't?  Well,  blarst  your  bloody  heyes, 
if  you'll  come  back  'ere  hi'll  tell  you — an'  mike 
soup  of  the  hair  you're  breathin'  so  'aughtily." 

Dinnie  touched  his  chum's  arm.  "Don't  be 
mindin'  the  likes  o'  him,  Geordie.  A  steward! 
Sure  what's  a  steward  ? " 

"That's  right,  maties,  what's  a  steward?" 

They  peered  at  him.  Sure  enough  it  was  the 
young  New  Yorker  Cummings,  who  had  helped 
them  smuggle  the  young  lad  aboard.  "Now  we 
241 


Heroes 

people" — he  waved  an  easy  hand — "have  to 
shovel  like  coolies  and  sweat  like  horses,  but  there 
're  some  things  we  don't  have  to  do.  No  man, 
just  because  he  happens  to  have  the  price  of  a 
saloon  passage,  can  say  to  us,  'Here,  damn 
your  eyes,  where's  my  shaving  water  this  morn- 
ing V  And  when  saloon  he  feels  a  bit  sea-sick 
and  heaves  his  last  meal  any  old  place,  it's  not 
us  that  has  to  get  down  on  our  knees  like  a  wet 
nurse  and —  But  you  haven't  got  the  makin's, 
have  you  ? " 

Dinnie  passed  over  the  paper  and  tobacco  and 
Cummings  began  to  roll  a  cigarette,  talking  easily 
meanwhile.  "I  wouldn't  mind  havin'  the  money, 
though,  that  some  of  those  guys  get  in  tips.  It  'd 
be  me  for  a  few  of  the  gay  European  metropo- 
lises between  trips,  you  betcher.  But,  jee-zooks! 
what's  the  use  ? " 

Dinnie  watched  him  in  admiration.  "You're 
the  furst  lad  ever  I  see  could  roll  one  of  them 
things  with  one  hand  an'  kape  on  taikin'  with  the 
other." 

"Well,  that's  something,  I  suppose — even  if  I 
don't  ever  get  a  medal  for  anything  else.  But  you 
were  asking  that  classy  steward  if  it  was  still  foggy. 
Geordie,  was  it  ?  Well,  it's  just  as  foggy  now  as 
it's  been  all  night.  And  what  do  you  know  about 
that — full  speed  all  night  in  the  fog  ? " 
242 


Heroes 

"H-m — it's  little  you  know  of  the  ways  of 
ocean  liners,  I'm  thinkin,.,, 

"Don't  forget  we're  between  Sandy  Hook  and 
Nantucket,  where  we're  liable  any  minute  to  pick 
up  a  coaster  or  a  fisherman  or  another  steamer 
on  our  bow."  He  drew  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
along  the  edge  of  his  cigarette-paper.  "And  why 
is  it?"  He  caught  the  string  of  the  tobacco  bag 
and  drew  it  tight  in  his  teeth.  "Yes,  why  do  they 
do  it?"  He  lifted  a  small  hot  coal  with  a  bit  of 
waste  and  held  it  to  his  cigarette — puff,  puff — he 
inhaled  the  smoke,  held  it  a  moment,  and  sent  it 
flying  through  his  nose.  "It's  against  the  law, 
isn't  it  ?     Then  why  do  they  do  it  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  why,  b'y.  We  has  to  be  at  the 
Azores,  d'  y'  see,  on  next  Thursdah  mornin' — say 
Thursdah  early." 

"And  why  early?" 

"So  the  passengers  can  have  their  day  ashore. 
And  we  has  to  be  at  Gibraltar  on  the  followin' 
Mondah  mornin'  early,  so  the  passengers  can 
have  their  day  ashore  agin.  If  the  passengers — 
tourists,  d'  y'  see — don't  have  their  allowance  of 
time  ashore  they'll  be  savin',  'What  the  divil 
kind  of  a  line  is  this  that  don't  give  us  time  to 
see  all  these  fine  places  they  advertise?'  And  so 
when  they  falls  behind  they  hasn't  it  in  them  to 
make  it  up  ever.     Comfort — and  safety — 'tis  all  in 

243 


Heroes 

the  little  books  they  gives  out.  Y'  ought  to  read 
one  some  time,  b'y.  They're  insthructive — and 
amusin\  And  not  havin'  the  speed  to  spare,  we 
can't  be  slowin'  down,  d'  y9  see  ?  And  so  full 
tilt  through  the  fog  we  has  to  go." 

"H-m — and  some  day  there'll  be  a  fine  mess, 
won't  there?  And — jee-zooks!  what's  that  ?"  He 
reached  his  free  arm  out  for  support.  "  Jee-zooks ! 
d'  y  see  that?"  he  ejaculated,  and  snapping  his 
half-smoked  cigarette  across  the  deck  he  bolted 
for  the  ladder. 


Ill 

Dinnie  and  Geordie  gripped  each  other.  A 
great  bump  it  was,  with  one  side  of  the  fire-room 
deck  rising  high  and  a  lot  of  coal  in  the  bunkers 
on  that  same  side  tumbling  down. 

"Faith  and  'twill  save  some  coal-passin'  that," 
said  Dinnie.  Then  the  tearing  and  grinding  of 
the  ship's  plates  outside.  More  coal  fell  on  the 
deck  and  thin  splashes  of  sea-water;  and  then — 
from  above  their  heads,  from  above  the  coal-pile — 
came  sea-water  in  great  sheets. 

The  flying  New  Yorker  took  another  backward 

look.    "Twenty  feet  below  the  water-line,  no  place 

for  me — jee-zooks,  no!"  and  continued  after  the 

rest  of  the  fire-room  gang,  who,  having  hove  away 

244 


Heroes 

shovels,  slice-bars,  whatever  they  had  in  their 
hands,  were  rushing  for  the  upper  regions.  Some 
went  out  by  the  bulkhead  door  and  into  the  pas- 
sageway, but  most  of  them  jumped  for  the  nar- 
row iron  ladder,  where  immediately  was  a  conges- 
tion, with  haulings  and  elbowings,  mixed  language, 
and  the  appearance  for  a  time  as  if  nobody  would 
ever  get  clear. 

Cummings  was  the  last  of  the  crowd  to  the 
ladder,  and,  having  to  wait  for  those  before  and 
above  him,  took  time  for  another  look  about  the 
fire-room.  Just  two  men  there.  Hauling  the  fires 
out  from  under  the  boilers  they  were.  Already 
they  had  cleaned  out  two.  From  where  the  in- 
rushing  water  was  creeping  over  the  heaps  of  red 
coal  the  steam  was  ascending  in  clouds. 

To  Cummings  it  seemed  that  these  two  men 
did  not  realize  their  danger.  "The  ship's  side 
is  all  stove  in,"  he  called  out. 

They  paid  no  attention.  "They  don't  hear 
me,"  thought  Cummings,  and  thrust  his  head  for- 
ward for  a  better  view.  "Why,  if  it  ain't  Din- 
nie  and  Geordie!"  and  megaphoned  through  his 
hands.  "  Hey  there,  you  people,  come  on !  They'll 
nobody  pin  any  medals  on  you  for  that — come  on ! " 

But  they  continued  to  work  feverishly.  Even 
while  the  New  Yorker  was  warning  them  they 
had  cleared  out  another  fire-box.     "Jee-zooks!" 

245 


Heroes 

said  Cummings,  and  having  by  now  a  clear  ladder- 
way  set  his  foot  on  a  rung  and  from  there  looked 
back  once  more.  "They're  sure  a  couple  of  lob- 
sters," he  muttered,  but  waited  nevertheless;  and, 
waiting,  noticed  that  the  water  was  up  to  his  shoe- 
tops.  He  drew  another  deep  breath,  took  an- 
other look  up  the  ladder,  and  "  Jee-zooks!"  he 
groaned,  and  slipped  over  and  yelled  in  Dinnie's 
ear,  "What  do  I  do?" 

Dinnie  looked  around.  Cummings  thought  the 
stoker  would  be  surprised,  but  he  didn't  seem  to 
be.  "Hulloh,  b'y!"  was  his  cheerful  greeting. 
"Do  what  we're  doin' — haul  the  fires.  And  wurk 
fasht,  b'y — wurk  fasht." 

Cummings  began  to  haul  out  the  hot  coals,  too. 
And  hauled  them  fast.  It  was  the  only  safe  way. 
The  outrushing  heat,  he  thought,  would  shrivel 
up  his  insides,  while  outside  it  was  as  if  his  flesh 
would  blister  under  the  uprising  steam.  One  fire- 
box, another,  and  the  sea-water  was  half-way  to 
his  knees.  He  looked  around  to  see  how  his  chums 
were  making  out.  They  were  hardly  to  be  seen 
through  the  steam,  but  it  encouraged  him  to  see 
that  they,  too,  had  to  turn  away  their  heads  be- 
fore the  uprush  of  it. 

The  fires  were  all  hauled,  and  Cummings,  con- 
ceiving his  work  to  be  over,  made  for  the  ladder. 
But  they  did  not  follow,  and  looking  around  again 
246 


1 

£k 

W  m?± 

yk/' "  ,JJ! '      i|  #(£/          VfiL 

A 

J 

JT^* 

m 

•'*.  ::     i  .  •       ' 

^ 

And  wurk  fasht,  b'y — wurk  fasht" 


Heroes 

he  saw  them  turning  wheels,  and  presently  heard 
a  tremendous  racket.  "More  trouble !"  groaned 
Cummings.      "Not  through  yet?"   he  called  out. 

"No,  b'y,  we  must  ease  off  the  shteam  yet,"  and 
hurriedly  turned  another  valve.  And  Geordie 
turned  one.  And  Cummings  took  to  gauging  the 
rising  water.  Suppose  it  did  reach  those  boilers 
and  they  blew  up  ?  "  Jee-zooks ! "  he  muttered, 
and  even  more  feverishly  than  Dinnie  or  Geordie 
took  to  turning  valves  till  there  were  no  more  to 
turn.  He  would  surely  have  bolted  up  the  ladder 
then  but  for  the  sight  of  these  two  professional 
stokers  still  on  the  job.  Just  two  stokers!  And 
for  what  ?     Jee-zooks,  for  what  ? 

"It  '11  be  the  wather-tight  doors  now,  Geordie," 
said  Dinnie. 

"Oh,  ay,  the  water-tight  doors,  Dinnie." 

Cummings  saw  them  wading  through  the  black- 
ened water — away  from  the  ladder.  "Say,  ain't 
you  people  ever  coming  ? "  yelled  Cummings,  and 
then  the  electric  lights  flickered,  recovered,  flick- 
ered, and  went  out. 

"This  way,  Geordie,"  he  heard  Dinnie  calling, 
and  heard,  too,  the  heavy  swishing  of  their  bodies 
as  they  pushed  through  the  water.  He  could  hear, 
too — must  be  at  the  bulkhead  now — the  direct- 
ing words  to  each  other,  and  after  a  moment  the 
dull  thud  of  a  closing  door.    He  could  hear,  too — 

247 


Heroes 

so  vehemently  were  they  working  and  so  eager  was 
he  for  it — he  could  hear,  despite  the  racket  of  the 
outrushing  steam,  the  click  of  the  buttoning  keys 
in  the  dark. 

"And  now  the  injine-room,  Geordie." 

"Oh,  ay,  the  engine-room  doors,  Dinnie,"  and 
the  pair  of  heavily  moving  bodies  came  toward  him 
again.  And  passed  him,  and  on  toward  the  engine- 
room.  Cummings  let  his  hands  drop,  and  pulled 
them  up  hurriedly — they  were  wet.  What — to  his 
hips  already  ?  What  lobsters,  those  two!  And  yet 
there  they  were — still  on  the  job.  He  felt  of  the 
ladder  to  locate  it  afresh,  and  then — jee-zooks! 
— he  turned  and  waded  for  the  engine-room  him- 
self. 

He  could  hear  Geordie  before  he  reached  them. 
"And  that  'ere  helectric-light  machine  flooded  and 
not  heven  a  lantern,  Dinnie !  A  blarsted  rotten  un 
I  calls  this  ship." 

"Rotten  enough,  Geordie  b'y,  but  hush  now. 
And  did  we  turn  all  the  keys,  I  dunno  ?  Wait, 
if  these  matches  are  only  dhry."  Cummings  saw 
the  flare  of  it  and  the  light  held  high  above  Din- 
nie's  head.  He  saw,  too,  the  two  top  keys,  not 
yet  turned.     "Let  me,"  he  said — "I'm  taller." 

"What!  and  you  here  yet?    Well,  well,  that's 
the  b'y.     Now  the  other  one.     That's  it.     And 
now  for  the  other  dure." 
248 


Heroes 

"  Jee-zooks!  Dinnie,  but  ain't  there  any  end  to 
this  ?    Up  to  my  chest  already." 

"Hush,  b'y,  hush!  What  harm  is  a  little  wa- 
ther  on  your  chest  ? " 

"Won't  she  sink  under  us  ?" 

"I  dunno  will  she  or  no.  But  she  sur-r-tinly 
will  if  we  don't  get  that  other  dure  closed — and 
that  soon." 

"Ay,  an'  bloody  well  soon." 

They  reached  the  other  door  and  began  on  the 
keys.  But  they  would  not  turn.  "'Tis  the  bulk- 
head bucklin'  under  the  weight  of  the  sea.  You 
have  the  weight,  Geordie — throw  yourself  agin  it 
whilst  the  two  of  us  turns  them.  Come,  b'y, 
come  now.  Now,  Geordie!  Now  agin!  There 
she  is.  And  now  agin!  That's  it.  And  agin! 
And  now  for  the  way  out.  Come  on,  Geordie  b'y. 
And  where  are  you,  avick  ?  Where  are  you,  me 
bowld  New  Yorker?" 

"Here,"  called  out  Cummings  hastily. 

"Wait.  Maybe  I  can  light  another  match  to 
see  the  way  out.  I've  been  kapin'  these  around 
me  neck  with  me  tobacco  to  hold  'em  dhry  like, 
but  I  fear — yes,  the  little  divils  they're  wet.  Well, 
we'll  have  to  find  it  in  the  dark.  Lay  the  coorse, 
b'y,  and  lay  it  shtraight.  Geordie's  no  champeen 
at  swimmin'  and  sorra  the  shtroke  can  I  swim  at 
all  mesel'." 

249 


Heroes 

"Can't  swim — and  water  to  our  necks!  Well, 
I  can  swim  all  right.  Here,  take  hold  of  my  hand," 
and  with  joined  hands  the  three  of  them  made 
the  ladder.  They  leaned  on  the  hand-rail  of  the 
grated  hatch  to  get  breath.  The  sweat  was  rolling 
off  Cummings,  but  he  was  safe  and  the  ship  was 
safe  and  everybody  aboard  was  safe. 

IV 

Still  as  could  be  lay  the  little  stowaway  while 
the  stokers  off  watch  came  into  the  room  and  made 
ready  to  turn  in.  Not  such  a  terrible  lot,  but  they 
did  swear;  a  couple  of  them  more  than  they  ought 
to,  more  even  than  the  big  Englishman  Geordie. 
He  snuggled  his  head  under  Dinnie's  coat,  which 
was  his  pillow,  and  lay  quiet,  wondering  how 
long  the  last  one,  who  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
his  bunk  smoking,  how  long  before  he  would  roll 
back  into  his  bunk;  and  watching  him,  fell  asleep. 
And  sleeping,  had  a  dream,  a  beautiful  dream  of 
being  home  with  his  father;  and  then  a  terrible 
dream  of  the  bunk  tumbling  in  and  of  his  father 
suddenly  changing  into  half  a  dozen  tramping, 
excited  men,  and  jumping  up  and  running  out  the 
door. 

The  lad  sat  up,  glad  to  find  himself  still  in  his 
bunk,  and  yet  as  he  looked  he  saw  the  last  of  his 
250 


Heroes 

room-mates  running  into  the  passageway.  And 
a  lot  of  other  people  were  running  through  the 
passageway,  past  the  door,  and  calling  to  each 
other  as  they  ran.  By  then  he  knew  that  some- 
thing funny  had  happened,  and  he  fished  out  his 
shoes  from  under  the  bed-tick  and  put  them  on 
and  stepped  into  the  passageway  himself,  and  no 
sooner  there  than  a  man  bowled  him  over — and 
another  and  another,  and  two  or  three  more, 
every  one  running  swiftly,  and  only  the  last  of  all 
stopping  to  put  him  on  his  feet,  and  even  that  one 
hollered  at  him,  "You  bloody  little  bloater,  what 
you  doin*  here?  Get  up  on  deck" — roughly,  like 
that,  and  yet  not  unkindly. 

The  stowaway,  finding  his  feet,  started  running 
himself.  All  the  lights  were  out — dark  every- 
where; so  that  he  bumped  in  and  out  of  pas- 
sageways and  by  and  by  upstairs,  slipping  by 
passengers,  and  more  passengers,  like  shadows  in 
the  dark,  in  gangways  and  on  stairways,  most  of 
them  excited  and  asking  all  sorts  of  questions, 
but  mostly,  "What's  happened  ?"  And  then  he 
reached  the  top  deck,  where  were  a  lot  of  ship's 
people  hurrying  by,  but  they  not  saying  much. 
And  he  heard  the  sound  of  blows  and  went  over  to 
see  what  it  was,  and  found  a  lot  of  men,  one  of 
them  with  an  axe  trying  to  knock  away  a  big  block 
of  wood  from  under  a  life-boat,  but  not  doing  it 
251 


Heroes 

very  well.  There  were  plenty  of  orders,  but  no- 
body seemed  to  know  just  what  to  do.  Some 
said  this  was  the  way  to  do  it,  and  some  said  no, 
the  other  way.  And  somebody  lit  a  match,  and 
when  it  blazed  up  the  stowaway  saw  the  buttons 
shining  on  the  short  jackets;  and  by  that  he  knew 
them  for  stewards,  and,  the  stewards  being  the 
enemies  of  Dinnie  and  Geordie,  he  slipped  in 
behind  the  boat. 

There  he  couldn't  help  hearing  the  talk.  A 
lot  of  talk,  mostly  the  talk  of  men  afraid  of  some- 
thing. "Wot  do  hi  know  of  'andlin'  boats?" 
one  was  complaining.  "Hi  shipped  for  a  steward, 
hi  did.     Where's  their  bloody  s'ilors?" 

"  Sailors  ? " — this  voice  not  so  frightened.  "  Sail- 
ors on  these  packets  ?  Sailors  ?  My  word,  that's 
a  rare  one!" 

Then  a  new  voice  among  them.  "Over'aul 
that  gear!" 

"But  'ow  do  I  hover' aul  it?"  from  the  man 
who  said  he  shipped  for  a  steward,  and  so  close 
that  the  stowaway  could  have  reached  around  the 
end  of  the  boat  and  touched  his  trouser-leg. 

"How?    Over'aul  it,  I  say!" 

"  But  wot  do  I  do  ?  Hi  shipped  for  a  steward 
an'  not  for " 

"Clear  it  away  and  no  more  o'  your  bloody 
lip!" 

252 


Heroes 

He  felt  the  steward  press  close  to  the  boat  and 
then  saw  his  feet  leave  the  deck,  as  if  he  was 
springing  up  to  get  hold  of  something.  And  then, 
"Ah-h,  hi  'ave  it!" 

"  'Ave  you  ?  Then  suppose  you  do  something 
with  it!" 

The  stowaway  could  almost  feel  the  legs  of  the 
steward  stiffen  as  he  braced  himself  to  tug  on  the 
rope,  and  then  "Oh-h! — "  he  heard,  and  sud- 
denly, almost  down  on  top  of  him,  came  the  body 
of  the  steward.  A  big  block  with  rope  running 
from  it  rattled  down  beside  him. 

"Gawd!"  he  heard  another  voice,  and  he 
reached  out  a  hand  himself  to  touch  the  head  of 
the  steward,  and  it  came  away  wet.  The  fog  and 
the  dew  of  night  lay  all  about,  but  it  wasn't  that. 
He  shivered. 

"Gawd's  sake!"  said  the  same  rough  voice,  "to 
think  of  'im  knowin'  no  better  than  that!" 

"  'Ow  was  'e  to  know?"  came  from  another. 
"Fred  'e  didn't  ship  for  no  s'ilor." 

Then  came  one  with  a  lantern  and  looked. 
The  stowaway  could  see  it,  sidewise — the  mashed 
head  and  the  awful  bloody  face.  He  didn't  want 
to  look  any  more.  And  then  another  man  spotted 
him  and  grabbed  him.  "You  bloody  little  rat,  wot 
you  doin'  'ere?"  and  picked  him  up  and  threw 
him  yards  across  the  deck.    And  he  ran  off,  and 

253 


Heroes 

the  last  thing  he  heard  was,  "  'E's  got  'is  larst 
tip,  has  Fred." 

The  stowaway  had  no  idea  where  he  was  go- 
ing, but  he  ran  downstairs  and  into  a  passageway, 
and  then  down  another  flight  of  stairs  and  into 
another  passageway,  and  kept  on  going — away 
from  the  terrible  dead  man. 

By  and  by  he  found  his  way  among  a  lot  of 
boxes  and  barrels,  and  there  hid.  And  here 
came  some  men  with  a  lantern  soon  and  began 
to  haul  the  boxes  and  barrels  about;  and  by  and 
by  again  more  men  joined  them,  and  then  he 
heard  a  ripping,  like  they  were  breaking  some 
wooden  box  open,  and  then  he  heard,  "We 
might's  well  have  it,  same  as  our  betters." 

"And  was  he  drinking — on  the  level,  was  he  I" 

"Ay,  swillin'  it  in.  I  saw  'im  myself — in  'is 
cabin." 

"Ay,  and  so  did  I,"  affirmed  another.  "Be- 
fore ever  we  left  the  dock  he  was  drinkin'.  Never 
misses  a  chance,  he  don't.  And  that  tall  officer — 
wot's  'is  name  ? — but,  hi  say,  don't  stop  to  draw 
no  cork,"  and  followed  then  the  crack  of  a  break- 
ing bottle  and  a  deep  gurgling. 

"Farley,  you  mean?  I  'eard  a  parsenger  my- 
self arsk  Farley  if  'e  'ad  the  right  time — at  the 
'ead  of  the  gangplank,  mind  you,  people  comin' 
and  goin'  all  the  time — afore  we  left  the  dock  at 

254 


Heroes 

all.  And  Farley,  bli'  me,  'e  couldn't  tell  'im,  'is 
bloomin'  heyes  a-rollin'  in  'is  'ead.  Only  looks 
at  'is  watch  and  says,  'Arf-parst  seven.'  'E  car- 
ries Lunnun  and  New  York  time  on  'is  watch, 
you  know,  Farley  does.  'Ere,  let  me  'ave  a  taste 
now." 

More  gurgling,  and  then:  "And  the  parsenger 
'e  looks  at  Farley  and  says,  'Wot?'  And  Farley 
looks  again  and  says,  'Yes,  'arf-parst  seven,'  'e 
says  again.  And  the  parsenger  says,  'D'  y'  mind 
if  I  look  myself?'  and  'e  looks  at  the  watch  and 
e'  looks  at  Farley  and  'e  says,  'Half-past  two — 
thank  you,'  and  goes  over  to  a  lady  near  the  rail 
and  says,  'Well,  what  d'  y'  know  about  that? — 
so  drunk  he  don't  know  one  hand  from  the  other. 
A  ship's  officer  and  drunk — and  it  only  half  an 
hour  to  sailing!  Fine,  isn't  it?'  Ay,  so  'elp  me, 
'e  did.  But  blarst  Farley  and  the  'ole  bloomin' 
cabin  gang!  Knock  the  neck  hoff  another  one 
and  'urry,  for  the  other  ship's  standin'  by  and 
we'll  be  'avin'  to  go  over  the  side  soon." 

"Soon  ?  What  do  you  call  soon  ?  They  won't 
get  the  first  boat  over  the  side  for  two  hours,  by 
the  way  they're  goin'  at  it.  Know  as  much  about 
boats,  those  chaps,  as —  Well,  here's  happy 
days!" 

And  they  drank  and  went  away.  And  more 
came,  and  more,  and  by  and  by  they  began  to 

255 


Heroes 

quarrel,  so  that  the  stowaway,  terribly  frightened, 
crawled  farther  in.  No  light  in  there.  And  by 
and  by  nobody  came  any  more,  and  it  grew  awfully 
quiet  above  and  outside — no  hurrying  feet  any 
more.  And  then  he  felt  around  to  get  out,  but 
found  the  boxes  and  barrels  were  wedged  in 
around  him.  He  tried  and  tried,  but  couldn't 
move  them. 

So  he  gave  it  up  at  last  and  lay  back,  waiting 
and  waiting,  until  he  must  have  fallen  asleep; 
for  the  next  thing  he  knew  it  was  darker  than 
ever.  And  again  he  tried  to  get  out.  But  no 
use.  And  then  he  began  to  feel  hungry.  But 
nothing  to  eat.  And  then  he  didn't  care  if  the 
stewards  did  come  and  get  him.  But  they  didn't 
come — nobody  came.  And  then  he  felt  the  ship 
moving  under  him.  And  he  must  have  fallen 
asleep  again,  for  all  at  once  the  voices  broke  in  on 
him  and  the  noise  of  people  throwing  the  boxes 
and  barrels  about.  He  could  not  make  out  just 
what  they  were  saying,  but  he  felt  frightened 
again  and  kept  quiet  till  the  ship  took  to  rolling, 
but  not  rolling  like  before — a  new  way  now. 
"She's  sinking!"  he  whimpered,  " and  I'm  locked 
in  here  and  nobody  knows  it.  And  I'll  sink  with 
the  ship.  And  be  drowned  in  here!"  And  "O 
my  father!"  he  called  out  then,  and  "O  Dinnie, 
Dinnie!— O  father!" 

256 


Heroes 

"God  in  heaven!  him  in  here  and  not  so  much 
as  a  needle  of  light  to  guide  us!  Where  are  ye, 
lad — let  another  whoop  out  of  ye! "  O  the  blessed 
voice — Dinnie's  voice. 


The  passengers  had  been  taken  off,  the  ship's 
company  had  been  taken  off,  everybody  taken  off 
but  the  two  officers  on  the  bridge  and  themselves 
— the  little  fellow  hidden — below.  It  was  a  night 
of  vaporish  fog  and  sea  like  oil.  From  ahead 
Cummings  could  hear  the  chug,  chug  of  the  tow- 
ing tugs.  He  could  not  see  what  they  were  doing 
on  the  bridge,  but  presently  he  saw  that  the  tow- 
ing steamer  had  cut  or  slipped  her  hawser  and 
was  headed  about.  "  Jee-zooks !  what's  that  for  ? " 
he  muttered,  and  then  he  heard  a  revolver  shot 
from  the  bridge  and  saw  the  blue  signal  flame 
burning  near  the  rail  of  the  ship.  Then  he  felt 
the  deck  under  him  heave  logily  and,  looking 
back,  saw  that  her  stern  was  settling.  "Jee-zooks! 
Dinnie  had  it  right — they're  going  to  let  her  go." 

Two  more  shots  rang  out  and  a  moment  later 
the  second  automatic  blue  light  spurted  up  from 
the  water.  One  of  the  towing  steamers  was  now 
alongside  and  the  two  officers  were  staggering 
down  from  the  bridge.  Cummings  ran  aft  and 
257 


Heroes 

below,  but  before  he  made  the  next  deck  he  met 
the  two  stokers,  Dinnie  holding  the  boy  in  his 
arms.  The  water  was  coming  up  the  iron  ladder 
after  them. 

"A  close  call  I  guess  you  people  had.  And  a 
close  call  yet — hurry!" 

"Hurry?  What  the  divil  do  you  think  we're 
doin' — takin'  a  nap,  is  it?  But  is  there  a  boat 
handy,  b'y?" 

"There's  two  of  our  life-boats  alongside.  One 
they'll  take,  of  course.  We  can  take  the  other. 
Y'  ought  to  seen  them!  Talk  about  a  pair  of 
shines!    But  come  on — right  after  me." 

When  they  reached  the  open  deck  her  taffrail 
was  all  but  flush  with  the  water.  "Goin'  she  is, 
but  time  enough  if  the  boat's  handy." 

"Handy  enough,"  assured  Cummings,  and  as 
they  all  made  their  way  forward  the  two  stokers 
looked  about.  "I  call  this  as  comfortable  a  sink- 
in',  Geordie,  as  a  man  could  ashk  for.  Inshore 
wather,  a  shmooth  sea — on'y  for  the  little  b'y. 
How  are  ye,  lad  ? " 

They   heard    Cummings's   startled   voice  then. 

"What's  it?  No?  Heaven  save  us,  Geordie 
— the  other  boat  casht  adrift!  And  oh,  the  little 
lad!" 

"But  'e's  over  arter  her!  Look  at  'im,  Dinnie! 
Gawd,  Dinnie,  'e  can  swim  like  a  bloody  pawpuss." 

258 


Heroes 

They  could  hear  rather  than  see  him  then, 
kicking  through  the  water.  Then  he  passed  out 
of  sight  and  hearing.  A  silence,  a  terribly  long 
silence,  during  which  they  saw  dimly  a  ship's 
life-boat  with  the  two  officers  shove  off  from  the 
farther  side  of  the  ship.  Then  they  could  make 
out  the  sound  of  oars — from  their  own  side  of 
the  ship.  A  minute,  two  minutes  more,  perhaps. 
But  now  the  ship's  stern  had  gone  under  and  her 
bow  mounting. 

They  began  to  fear  that  the  New  Yorker  would 
never  get  back  in  time.  "If  it  was  but  a  loose 
spar  or  summat  to  'ang  on  to  like,  arter  she  goes 
under,  Dinnie." 

"  Loose  spars  ?  On  the  deck  of  an  ocean  liner  ? 
You  might  lay  hold  of  one  of  them  iron  derrick 
booms.  But,  thanks  to  God,  Geordie,  she'll  go 
down  aisy-like.,, 

And  it  was  so.  Their  ship  was  six  hundred 
feet  long  and  she  could  not  have  been  in  more 
than  two  hundred  feet  of  water,  with  the  result 
that  her  stern  rested  on  bottom  while  her  bow  was 
yet  high  in  the  air.  As  her  waist  went  under  they 
climbed  up  into  the  forward  stays  and  waited  for 
Cummings. 

"A  'eavy  boat — Vll  never  mike  it." 

"The  tide's  agin  him — wait  a  while." 

Gently  up  and  down  the  ship's  bow  went.  Up 
259 


Heroes 

and  down,  up  and  down,  lower  and  lower.  Her 
forward  rail  was  about  under  and  as  yet  hardly 
a  ripple  on  the  water. 

"Like  a  bloody  submarine,"  said  Geordie,  and 
with  a  loose  line  in  his  hand  swarmed  up  the 
stays  after  Dinnie.  By  now  they  could  see  him — 
faintly.  "  'E'll  never  mike  it,  Dinnie — 'ere  goes 
for  'im." 

Geordie  hove  his  coiled  line — far  out.  Her 
forward  rail  was  all  but  under.  "Hi  do  believe 
Vs  got  it!  'Ere,  tike  this  end,  Dinnie.  I've  the 
bight  of  it.     'Ere  goes!" 

"God  speed  ye,  Geordie!  And  I'll  soon  be 
afther  ye  wi'  the  lad."  Already  the  sea  was  be- 
ginning to  walk  up  the  stays.  Soon  she  would 
go  with  a  rush.  Dinnie  lifted  the  boy  to  his  hip 
and  climbed  higher. 

The  line  had  struck  across  the  gunnel  of  the  life- 
boat, whereat  Cummings  dropped  the  oars,  took 
hold,  and  hauled,  and  in  came  Geordie — flounder- 
ing. They  heard  Dinnie's  voice.  "To  her  masht- 
head  'twill  be  soon.  I'm  coming  now — wi*  the 
lad — haul  hard!"  and  the  splash.  The  two  men 
hauled.  A  heavy  load  it  was,  and  they  saw  him 
go  under  trying  to  hold  the  boy  clear— once,  twice, 
three  times  he  went,  but  always  kicking  vigor- 
ously. But  they  got  the  pair  at  last,  taking  first 
the  little  stowaway  whom  Dinnie  handed  up. 
260 


o 

P 


Heroes 

"  'Tis  full  of  wather  I  am,"  he  said,  and  fell 
weakly  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  where  he  lay 
for  perhaps  a  minute  before  he  spoke  again. 
"  Mortal  feared  I  was — where  is  he,  the  little  lad  ? 
All  right,  avick  ?     Sure  ye  are." 

Cummings  stood  up  to  look  about.  Not  a 
sign  of  their  ship;  hardly  a  mark  on  the  water. 
"Now  for  that  other  towing  steamer,"  he  said. 
"She's  been  over  to  the  other  steamer  and  is 
headed  back.  I  wonder  do  they  see  us.  Don't 
hail."  And  they  paddled  their  life-boat  close  to 
the  second  towing  steamer's  lights.  "The  farther 
side,"  whispered  Cummings,  "and  easy."  And 
on  the  farther  side,  with  nobody  to  see,  they 
climbed  aboard.  "Turn  her  adrift,  b'y,"  said 
Dinnie,  "before  she's  noticed."  Cummings  let 
the  painter  slip  and  the  boat  drifted  off. 

They  crept  along  the  house  and  into  a  passage- 
way, where  they  came  on  a  man  who  was  gazing 
over  the  rail  as  if  absorbed  in  some  spectacle. 
M Jee-zooks ! " — Cummings  gripped  Dinnie — "I'll 
bet  I  know  that  chap.    Hey,  there,  Tom  White!" 

The  man  turned  and  saw  Cummings.  "Well, 
where  in  h " 

"Sh-h —  We're  off  that  ship,  and  it  mightn't 
be  healthy  for  us  if  some  people  found  it  out. 
Hide  us  somewhere,  will  you,  till  we  get  in  ?" 

"Sure.  Come  on,"  and  led  them  to  a  room 
261 


Heroes 

with  six  bunks.  "Turn  in  there  and  don't  hurry 
to  turn  out — this  bunch  will  keep  their  mouths 
shut.  And  give  me  your  clothes  and  I'll  dry  'em 
out  below.  We'll  get  you  ashore  all  right.  And 
say,  what  kind  of  a  team  is  that  up  there  ?  What  ? 
Really  ship's  officers  ?  Holy  cats !  But  they  sure 
must  'a'  lost  their  nerve.  Says  one  to  the  other, 
coming  over  the  side,  'You  were  game  to  the  last, 
Jack,'  and  puts  his  arm  around  his  shoulder. 
What  d'  y'  think  o'  that,  after  losin'  that  grand 
ship  ?  Didn't  they  know  enough  to  shore  up  those 
weakened  bulkheads  before  putting  her  under  tow, 
or  did  they  want  to  lose  her  ?  Ought  to  go  to 
jail  either  way,  the  pair  of  'em." 

"Jail!"  said  Cummings.  "I  guess  not.  That 
'd  put  the  company  in  bad  with  the  public." 

"That's  right,  come  to  think.  But  think  of 
'em,  the  pair  of  'em  handin'  out  that  kind  of  talk! 
Jee,  but  I'd  like  to  be  around  when  they  tell  their 
story  ashore.  Game  to  the  last!  Holy  cats,  but 
what  a  couple  of  shines!" 

VI 

The  three  stokers  and  the  boy,  having  reached 

New  York,  were  now  viewing  the  steamship  office 

from  the  Broadway  sidewalk.     Dinnie  and  Geor- 

die   were  for  holding  back,  but  not  Cummings. 

262 


Heroes 

"What  y'  afraid  of — that  buttoned  nigger  at  the 
door  ?  Or  the  fat  furniture  inside  ?  Come  on  in 
and  get  your  money." 

Cummings  led  the  way  in,  and  claimed  for  all 
three,  and  was  told  to  come  back  in  an  hour. 
Geordie  and  Dinnie,  overawed  by  the  superior 
air  of  everybody,  were  for  doing  as  they  were 
told;  but  "Go  out  and  come  back  hell!"  retorted 
Cummings.  "We  want  the  wages  due  us.  We 
can't  be  waiting  around  all  day.  We've  had  no 
breakfast  and  we've  no  money  for  dinner,  and  we 
want  our  wages — the  wages  due  us,"  and  made 
such  a  further  fuss  over  it  that  the  clerk  went  in- 
side and  brought  out  a  well-cushioned,  florid  man 
with  blue-black  cheeks  and  curled-up  mustache, 
which  he  continued  to  curl.  He  was  dressed  in 
one  of  the  company's  uniforms. 

"  I  knows  'im,"  whispered  Geordie.  "  'E's  the 
purser." 

"Now,  m'  lads,"  began  the  purser. 

"M'  lads  hell!"  snapped  Cummings.  "Don't 
m'  lad  us.  We're  all  tired  out  and — hungry — and 
we  want  our  wages." 

On  the  purser's  too-closely  shaven  features  a 
pitying  expression  would  have  crept,  but  Cum- 
mings's  sardonic  grin  cracked  it  midway.  "Very 
well,  I'll  see,"  said  the  purser.  "You  know  how 
much  is  due  you,  of  course?" 
263 


Heroes 

"No,  we  don't." 

"Well,  there's  three  days  coming  to  you." 

"Three  days  hell!     We  shipped  for  the  voyage." 

At  this  point  the  purser  backed  away  and  an- 
other official  hove  into  view.  A  much  keener 
chap  this  than  any  purser.  He  restated  the  case 
for  them.  "You  shipped  for  the  cruise — exactly. 
But  you  did  not,  it  appears,  complete  the  voyage. 
You  left  'ere  on  the  twenty-third  and  your  ship 
went  down  on  the  twenty-fifth.  Twenty-three, 
twenty-four,  twenty-five,  which  makes  three  days 
due  you,  at  four  p'und  ten  a  month." 

"But,  look  'ere — "  Geordie  was  gathering  in- 
dignation to  himself. 

"No  looking  here  or  there,"  retorted  this  keen 
one.  "  Look  at  the  law.  The  law  says  that  when 
a  ship  goes  down  all  claims  against  her  cease. 
That's  maritime  law." 

Cummings  was  taken  aback.  But  this  was  no 
blustering,  self-important  man,  he  felt.  This  one 
knew  his  ground,  evidently.  He  felt  like  punching 
somebody.  "Well" — he  turned  to  his  chums — 
"they  got  us,  I  guess.  Here  you,  give  us  those 
three  days." 

They  got  their  money.      Cummings,  looking  at 
his,  began  to  figure  mentally.     "Four  pound  ten 
— that's    twenty-two    dollars   about — three-thirty- 
firsts  of  twenty-two.     Jee-zooks ! " 
264 


Heroes 

Geordie  held  his  in  one  open  palm.  "  Bli'  me, 
but  it's  'ardly  eight  bob!" 

"Glory  be!"  said  Dinnie  softly,  "but  wouldn't 
you  think  they'd  pay  us  to  the  end  of  the  month 
itsel'  ?  Wouldn't  you  ? "  and  just  then  was  a 
great  commotion  and  in  the  rush  they  were  pushed 
to  one  side.  "What  the  divil's  all  the  ballyhooin' 
about  ? "  asked  Dinnie.  They  were  at  the  door 
in  time  to  see  an  automobile  rumbling  up. 

"Jee-zooks!"  ejaculated  Cummings.  "Look — 
our  two  officers!" 

The  cheering  crowd  was  surging  up  the  steam- 
ship company's  steps.  The  three  stokers  and 
the  boy  had  difficulty  in  holding  their  feet  and 
their  places  on  the  sidewalk.  A  newsboy  was 
yelling  in  Cummings's  ear. 

"What's  that?"   ejaculated  Cummings. 

"Sure — here's  all  about  them,"  said  the  boy, 
and  spread  the  first  page  of  the  paper  out.  Cum- 
mings took  it  in — the  black  letters  four  inches  high. 

"Well,  what  d'  y'  think  o'  that?"— 

HEROIC  CONDUCT  OF  CAPTAIN   HADSBY— 

MODERN  SEA  HISTORY  KNOWS 

NO   PARALLEL. 

Cummings  looked  his  paper  over  quickly.     He 
bought  another  and   looked   that  over,  and   an- 
other.    "That's  right,  fellows — they've  all  got  the 
265 


Heroes 

same  thing,"  and  began  to  read  the  story.  It 
took  a  whole  page  to  tell  it — of  the  dauntless  two 
who  refused  to  leave  their  ship  till  the  last  bit  of 
her  went  under  the  sea — would  have  gone  down 
with  her — did  go  down  into  the  seething  maelstrom, 
but  by  a  miracle 

"Hi  s'y,  lad,  that's  not  in  any  piper?" 

"Just  as  I'm  reading  it." 

"Hand  'oo  told  that  to  these  'ere  pipers?" 

"Why,  he  did." 

"  'E  did  ?     'oo  did  ?  ' 

"The  captain,  our  captain,  himself." 

"Lave  me  see  the  paper,  b'y."  Dinnie  had  a 
look  for  himself.  "An'  he  towld  these  reporthers 
that  ?  But  it  must  be  a  mishtake.  Sure,  even 
if  it  was  thrue  he  wouldn't  say  it — not  of  himsel', 
b'y,  not  of  himsel'." 

"  But  he  did.  Listen.  'As  the  last  bit  of  her  fore- 
truck  sank  beneath  the  seething,  boiling  sea '" 

"Seethin'!     B'ilin'!     God  forgive  him!" 

" — 'he  dived  and  secured  a  floating  spar '" 

"A  floating  spar?  Ho,  ho,  that's  a  rare  un! 
Where'd  the  bloody  floating  spar  come  from  ? " 

"Loose  spars  on  the  deck  of  an  ocean  liner — 
'tis  kind  of  a  cute  notion.  If  he  would  but  shtick 
to  nathure  itsel'!" 

"No  matter,  he's  getting  away  with  it."  Cum- 
mings  scowled  at  the  paper  and  then  he  looked 
266 


Heroes 

at  Geordie,  and  from  Geordie  to  Dinnie.  He 
looked  over  the  palpitating,  still  cheering  crowd, 
and  laughed — hysterically.  "Jee-zooks!  I  can't 
help  it — it's  the  limit." 

"Gawd!"  uttered  Geordie— "a  'ero!" 

"What  kind  are  they  at  all?"  asked  Dinnie, 
"these  reporthers  he  towld  this  to?" 

"Why,  they're  the  slickest  on  earth,  let  them 
tell  it.  Yes,  sir,  the  slickest — and  every  damn  one 
of  'em's  fallen  for  that  Belasco  back-drop  with 
all  the  calciums  full-tilt  and  our  heroic  captain 
in  the  middle  of  every  spot-light." 

"Hi!"  said  Geordie,  "  'ere  they  come  again, 
the  bloomin'  'eroes!" 

They  were  coming  down  the  steps  and  the 
crowd  was  cheering  anew.  "Three  cheers  and  a 
tiger  for  Captain  Hadsby!"  called  out  somebody. 
They  were  given,  and  Captain  Hadsby  raised  his 
hat  and  bowed — and  smiled.  "Three  cheers  for 
his  brave  mate!"  and  the  crowd  cheered  again, 
and  Farley  bowed — and  smiled.  "Jee-zooks,  pipe 
that  smile!"    muttered  Cummings. 

"There's  the  kind  of  seamen  I'd  like  to  see  on 
the  bridge  of  any  ship  I  cross  in,"  came  one  voice 
from  the  crowd.  Cummings  turned  and  saw 
him — an  honest  citizen  gazing  admiringly.  "You 
would,  eh?"  snapped  Cummings.  "Well,  you're 
a  hell  of  a  fine  judge  of  seamen!" 
267 


Heroes 

The  automobile  had  difficulty  in  getting  away, 
so  dense  was  the  crowd;  but  the  slow  start  gave 
the  admiring  throng  a  chance  to  cheer  again, 
whereat  the  brave  Captain  Hadsby  lifted  his  hat 
and  bowed  again,  and  his  equally  brave  subordi- 
nate did  likewise. 

Geordie  was  gazing  after  them  open-mouthed. 
"Well,  wot  d'  f  s'y  to  that!  My  Gawd!"  and 
suddenly  shook  his  fist  passionately  after  them. 
"  'Eroes!  Yes,  you're  a  bloody  fine  'ero  now, 
but  wite  till  the  Board  o'  Tride  across  the  water 
gets  arter  you.  Then  we'll  see  if  you're  a  'ero 
or  no.  'Eroes!  I  s'y,  lad,  look  'ere.  If  the  likes 
o'  them  be  'eroes,  then  wot  of  us — of  Dinnie  and 
me  and  you  that  saved  all  the  ship's  parsengers 
— wot  about  us  ? " 

"Us?"  Cummings  bit  it  out.  "Us?  Why, 
we're  a  bunch  of  cheap  pikers.  We're  three 
slobs  of  stokers  at  four  pound  ten  a  month — and 
our  wages  stops  the  minute  our  ship  goes  down." 

The  automobile  was  still  in  plain  view  proceed- 
ing up  Broadway,  not  going  so  fast,  however,  but 
what  the  populace  was  given  a  chance  to  identify 
the  valiant  mariners  and  to  cheer  them  afresh. 

Cummings  gazed  and  swore.  Geordie  gazed 
and  cursed. 

Dinnie  only  shook  his  head  sadly.  Then: 
"Come  on,  b'y.  Come  on,  Geordie — don't  be 
268 


Heroes 

mindin'  them.  They're  like  those  stewards  we 
were  spakin'  about  the  other  mornin\  'Tis  part 
of  their  work  for  the  company.  Surely  in  their 
hearts  they  must  be  havin'  the  black  thoughts  o' 
themselves.  And  for  all  the  praise  they  do  be 
gettin'  from  foolish  people,  you  b'y,  and  Geordie, 
and  me,  we're  no  worse  off.  We — we're  still 
men  before  God."  He  stooped  and  patted  the 
little  boy's  cheek.  "Sure  it's  here's  the  one  had 
the  har-r-d,  har-r-d  time  of  it,  wasn't  it,  avick  ? 
Sure  it  was,  yes.  And  we  have  yet  to  get  you 
home.  Come  on,  Geordie;  come  on,  b'y — it's  time 
we  were  hunting  another  ship." 

The  crowds  were  still  cheering,  one  batch  after 
another,  as  the  automobile  moved  on.  Cummings 
turned  for  a  last  look.  He  held  his  half-smoked 
cigarette  in  his  peculiar  fashion,  high  in  the  air 
between  thumb  and  second  finger.  Still  the  cheers 
were  coming  from  the  distance  and  Cummings 
was  listening.  "Heroes!  Heroes!"  he  bit  out, 
and  snapped  the  cigarette  butt  half-way  across 
the  street.  "Heroes! — jee-e-z'ks — heroes!"  and 
hurried  after  his  chums. 


269 


THE  CHRISTMAS  HANDICAP 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

THE  race  in  which  I  defeated  the  so-called 
Australian  for  the  championship  of  Amer- 
ica was  worth  two  thousand  dollars  to  me,  which 
two  thousand,  barring  a  few  inevitable  dollars 
spent  in  treating  the  crowd,  I  should  have  brought 
home  to  my  wife  and  little  girl,  and  so  made  sure 
that  all  would  be  well  with  them  till  the  next  sea- 
son. And  so  I  intended,  but  in  the  most  accidental 
way  in  the  world  we — Fifield,  the  book-maker, 
was  with  me — we  ran  into  a  faro-bank  on  the 
way  home,  and  in  the  morning  I  came  away  with 
about  enough  to  pay  for  a  good  breakfast  at  a 
hotel,  for  after  that  I  would  not  go  home.  I  had 
said  on  leaving  my  wife  that  I  would  come  back 
to  her  with  the  money  in  my  pocket  or  not  at  all. 
I  had  to  borrow  a  half-dollar  off  Fifield  to  tip 
the  waiter.  "Tell  my  wife  I've  gone,  but  don't 
tell  her  where,"  I  said  to  Fifield,  and  went  on 
down  to  the  docks  and  shipped  on  a  cattle- 
steamer.  Not  what  you  might  call  one  of  the 
preferred  occupations,  feeding  cattle  and  clean- 
ing their  stalls,  but  not  laborious,  either.     Only 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

the  food — the  men's  food — is  not  what  it  might 
be,  even  for  men  down  on  their  luck.  And  the 
men  are  not  always  what  they  might  be.  Plenty 
of  good-enough  people,  some  who  are  unfortunate 
or  some  just  adventurous  ones  among  them,  but 
sometimes  also  a  bad  one.  There  was  one  who 
did  not  take  to  me  any  more  than  I  took  to  him, 
a  big  brute  of  a  chap,  the  heavy-weight  bully  of 
the  after-hold.  Perhaps  he  thought  I  was  as 
meek  as  I  must  have  seemed  blue — he  must  have 
thought  so,  for  nothing  in  my  build  or  looks 
should  have  led  him  to  think  I  could  not  put  up  a 
fight  with  anything  walking  God's  earth.  The 
afternoon  I  ran  the  Australian,  I  had  stripped  at 
one  hundred  and  eighty-two  pounds,  and  not  a 
pound  of  it  you  could  have  torn  off  with  anything 
less  than  a  cotton-hook.  And  make  no  mistake,  I 
was  still  in  condition;  one  night  at  the  gaming- 
table, nor  four  days  of  bad  food  on  the  steamer, 
was  not  pushing  me  back  to  the  second  class. 

This  chap  picked  a  fight  with  me,  and  I  threw 
him  into  a  stall  where  four  Colorado  steers  would 
have  trampled  him  to  death  had  not  his  mates 
hauled  him  out  onto  the  alley-way  in  a  hurry. 
"And  if  we'd  been  on  deck  I'd  just  as  soon  've 
thrown  you  overboard — and  could  do  it  as  easy 
as  I  say  it,  too,"  I  ripped  out  at  him,  and  so  I 
would,  or  to  any  man  who  came  at  me  as  he  had. 
274 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

Once  I  got  warmed  up  I  did  not  mind  taking  a 
chance  at  'most  anything.  I  had  backed  the 
starter's  gun  in  too  many  big  races  not  to  have 
nerve,  and  had  carried  my  weight  down  the  track 
at  too  fast  a  clip  too  many  times  not  to  know 
I  had  power. 

But  if  this  chap  was  a  surprised  man,  he  was  not 
altogether  giving  up  the  fight;  at  least  he  was 
believed  to  be  the  man  who,  a  few  nights  later, 
dropped  a  bale  of  hay  down  the  hold  onto  me,  who 
was  stretched  out  on  the  hatch  two  decks  below. 
Sometimes  those  bunks  on  cattle-ships  are  not 
any  too  clean,  and  I  was  sleeping  out  this  night. 
Now  a  bale  of  hay  falling  through  the  height 
of  two  decks  doesn't  come  down  like  any  hatful 
of  feathers.  It  loosened  two  of  my  ribs,  so  said 
the  head-steward,  who  had  once  studied  medicine 
and  was  the  nearest  thing  to  a  doctor  the  ship 
carried,  and  who,  after  a  fashion,  also  trussed  me 
up.  He  did  not  make  a  good  job  of  the  bandag- 
ing— even  he  himself  said  as  much — which  proba- 
bly caused  him  also  to  say:  "But  what  can  you 
expect?  The  man  ought  to  be  dead,  anyway!" 
But  I  wasn't,  though  when  the  inflammation  set 
in  and  the  fever  began  to  keep  me  awake  nights 
I  almost  wished  I  was.  Almost,  but  not  quite — 
there  was  always  the  wife  and  the  child  in  mind. 

In  Liverpool,  after  the  ship  was  docked,  I  col- 

275 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

lected  what  money  was  coming  to  me  for  the  eleven 
days'  passage.  But  first  I  beat  up  the  man  who 
probably  dropped  the  bale  of  hay  on  me,  beat 
him  up  good  in  a  quiet  out-of-the-way  alley  in 
a  part  of  Liverpool  where  cattle-men  and  their 
kind  hang  about.  There  are  regions  there  where 
the  police  take  scant  notice  when  two  of  the  guild 
engage  in  battle,  provided  it  does  not  become  too 
general,  or  they  do  not  take  to  welting  too  many 
outsiders. 

They  probably  aim  not  to  debauch  their  help, 
those  steamship  lines — ten  shillings  was  coming 
to  me  for  the  trip.  Some  of  the  crew  said  I  was 
lucky  not  to  be  docked  a  few  bob  for  the  three 
days  I  was  laid  up  with  the  floating  ribs.  And 
doubtless  so;  but  from  out  of  that  two  dollars  and 
a  half  I  bought  a  third-class  ticket  to  Manches- 
ter, where  I  remembered  was  a  man  famous  in 
America  for  backing  professional  sprint-runners. 
I  found  his  place — a  "  pub  n  with  a  sort  of  eating- 
house  attached.  There  I  ordered  my  roast-beef 
and  potatoes  and  a  mug  of  ale,  and  they  did  taste 
nourishing.  As  I  ate  and  drank  I  gave  ear  to  the 
talk  going  on  around  me.  It  was  all  of  horses, 
whippets,  and  foot-running.  I  soon  learned  what 
I  most  wanted  to  know — before  New  Year's  there 
would  be  several  good  professional  handicaps, 
with  the  betting  on  them  promising  to  be  lively. 
276 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

Before  I  had  finished  my  meal  the  master 
himself  came  in  and  sat  down  among  his  custom- 
ers. I  took  a  good  look  at  him.  A  pretty  decent 
sort  he  appeared,  one  who  might  have  the  nerve 
to  take  a  chance  on  a  man  who  could  show  him 
a  good  performance,  and  who  might  give  a  fel- 
low a  fair  share  of  the  winnings  after  he  had 
won;  which  coincided  with  what  I  had  heard  of 
him.  A  square  "gaffer,"  the  professional  sprint- 
ers termed  him. 

After  I  had  smoked  my  single  pipeful,  which 
I  allowed  myself  after  every  meal  when  not  in 
strict  training,  I  picked  up  my  little  bag,  which 
held  my  running  clothes  and  shoes,  a  pair  of  run- 
ning corks,  a  tooth-brush,  and  a  hair  comb — 
nothing  more — and  approached  my  man.  "Mr. 
Ensey,  I've  been  doing  a  bit  of  sprinting  on  the 
other  side.  It's  no  use  telling  what  I'm  good  for 
— you'll  have  a  chance  to  see  that  for  yourself  if 
you'll  take  me  on.  Will  you  bed  and  board  me 
till  I've  had  a  fair  try-out?"  I  said  no  more 
than  that  then. 

The  old  fellow  looked  me  over.  He  would 
probably  have  looked  a  horse  over  in  pretty 
much  the  same  way  except  that  he  paid  more 
attention,  possibly,  to  my  face  than  he  might  if  I 
were  a  horse.  "What  do  you  weigh  ?"  he  asked 
at  last. 

V7 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

"I  did  strip  at  one  hundred  and  eighty-two 
pounds  two  weeks  ago." 

"M — m — thirteen  stone.  But  you  don't  weigh 
that  now?" 

"No — o — probably  not." 

"And  why?" 

I  might  have  told  him  of  the  broken  ribs  and 
the  fever,  but  I  did  not  care  to.  It  sounded  too 
much  like  an  excuse.  I  have  small  use  myself 
for  men  who  are  always  producing  excuses,  good- 
sounding  excuses  though  they  be,  in  place  of  per- 
formances. This  man  was  concerned  in  my  run- 
ning, not  in  my  troubles.  How  fast  could  I  swing 
through  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards,  not  how  did 
I  happen  to  get  a  couple  of  cracked  ribs,  was 
what  the  old  gaffer  wanted  to  know.  So  now  I 
answered,  "It  must  have  been  the  bad  passage." 

"H — m —  My  lad,  if  you  lose  nigh  a  stone- 
weight  crossing  the  Atlantic,  I'm  not  sure  you've 
the  timber  to  stand  the  hard  training  we  put  a 
handicap  runner  through  here.  But  what  've  you 
ever  done  on  the  other  side  ? " 

I  hesitated  to  answer,  but  finally  did  say: 
"Fve  done  evens,"  meaning  ten  seconds  for  a 
hundred  yards. 

He  smiled  ever  so  little.  "H — m —  Not  too 
many  'ave  showed  me  evens  over  here — not  for 
my  watch.     Them  ten-second  amachurs  can't  ever 

278 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

show  better   than  a   quarter   or   'alf  second   for 


me. 

"I'm  no  amateur." 


"Well,  on  another  look,  I'll  give  you  credit,  I 
don't  think  you  are.  I'm  puttin'  you  down  for 
something  better  than  a  cup-huntin'  amachur. 
But  what's  your  name  ?  I  must  've  heard  of  you 
if  you're  anything  great." 

I  wanted  to  be  honest  with  him — I  liked  the 
old  fellow  already — but  I  preferred  not  to  give 
my  name  just  then.  "Suppose  you  let  that  go 
for  awhile  ?" 

"H — m — m.  Well,  please  yourself,  but  when 
a  man's  goin'  to  the  expense  of  taking  care  of  you 
for  some  weeks  maybe  he's  not  askin'  o'ermuch  to 
know  your  name.  But  please  yourself.  I  like  your 
looks." 

That  same  afternoon  I  ran  a  trial  for  him. 
The  blue  feeling  was  on  me  again,  and  my  side 
aching  terribly.  I  knew  I  could  not  run  fast 
enough  to  get  away  from  a  policeman,  but  I  went 
with  Ensey  to  the  track.  A  dozen  or  more  idlers, 
curious  to  see  the  American  run,  also  went  along. 

I  did  my  best,  but  I  had  to  run  alone — and  I 
never  could  run  well  alone,  though  I  did  not  tell 
the  gaffer  so.  As  I  say — excuses  are  no  recom- 
mendation to  a  man  who  is  risking  money  on 
you. 

279 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

After  I  had  crossed  the  finish  line  I  allowed  my 
momentum  to  carry  me,  in  the  customary  way, 
on  for  fifty  yards  or  so,  so  as  not  to  strain  anything 
by  stopping  too  suddenly.  By  the  time  I  had 
returned  to  the  old  man  he  had  replaced  the 
watch  in  his  pocket  and  I  did  not  ask  to  look  at 
it.  But  it  was  very  slow  I  knew.  The  faces  of 
the  idlers,  not  to  mention  their  comment,  proved 
that.  "  Huh — that  chap.  'E  can't  run  as  fast  as 
my  old  woman,"  says  one.     That  was  enough. 

I  was  in  the  dressing-room,  about  to  get  out  of 
my  running  togs,  when  the  gaffer  entered.  "Eh, 
lad,  how  long  is  it  since  you've  run  in  ten  seconds 
on  the  other  side  ? " 

"Oh— not  so  long." 

"M — m — but  you  do  fall  away  fast.  What  d' 
y'  think  you  did  to-day  ?" 

I  said  I  had  no  idea.  I  dreaded  to  be  told; 
and  the  old  fellow  guessed  as  much.  "And  I 
don't  know  as  I  blame  you,  lad.  It  was — "  He 
whispered  it,  as  he  might  some  shameful  secret. 

Well,  I  could  believe  it,  though  not  since  my 
first  race  in  public,  one  for  boys  of  sixteen  years, 
had  I  run  so  slow. 

"And  the  marvel  is  you've  such  a  grand  style. 
I  do  like  your  style,  lad." 

"Well — "  I  Was  lying  on  the  rubbing-board, 
the  pain  of  my  side  forced  me  to  lie  down.  "I 
280 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

suppose  you  won't  care  to  keep  me  after  that 
trial." 

"  I  didn't  say  that,  lad,  though  on  the  judgment 
of  it  I  shouldn't  be  wasting  another  ha'penny  on 
you.  But  I  can't  get  over  your  style.  You've 
got  the  style  of  a  champion — you  have  that — 
and  I  must  say,  too,  every  other  mark  of  a  cham- 
pion but  the  speed.     What  is  it — what's  wrong?" 

I  had  got  as  far  as  removing  my  spiked  shoes  in 
the  undressing  process  when  the  gaffer  had  en- 
tered, and  there  I  stopped.  I  wanted  him  to 
think  that  his  entrance  had  put  out  of  my  mind 
the  thought  of  further  undressing.  I  wanted  him 
to  leave  before  I  pulled  off  my  running  shirt; 
but  plainly  he  was  going  in  no  hurry.  And  the 
longer  I  delayed  the  more  bound  he  was  to  stay. 
At  length  I  could  not  help  seeing  that  he  was  sus- 
picious of  something  or  other.  Well,  the  truth 
was  better  than  some  sorts  of  suspicion,  and, 
after  all,  if  he  was  ever  to  back  me  why  shouldn't 
he  know  ?  I  drew  off  my  shirt,  and  then  old  En- 
sey  saw  the  bandage  about  my  body. 

"Eh,  lad— what's  that 'ere?" 

Then  I  told  him,  and  how  I  came  by  it. 

"And  was  it  right,  d' y'  think,  to  hide  it  from 

me — me  that's  to  be  put  to  the  expense  of  keeping 

ye?"     But  he  was  mostly  sympathy.     "And  ye 

tried  to   run   with    that?     Man,  it's  resting,  not 

281 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

running,  ye  should  be.  Come,  now,  and  lay  by  a 
week  or  two,  and  then  we'll  see  what  ye'll  make 
of  it." 

I  rested  two  weeks,  jogged  easily  for  another 
week,  and  then  showed  a  gain  of  six  yards  over 
that  first  trial.  "Ah — h — that's  more  like,  but  a 
long  ways  off  yet  of  championship  form."  I  did 
not  tell  him  that  once  out  of  my  running  I  was 
rather  slow  to  come  around,  nor  that  my  weakness 
was  not  yet  gone;  nor  that  raw,  foggy  weather, 
as  they  had  this  day,  was  terribly  discouraging. 
Dry  weather  always  for  me.  Cold  or  hot,  no 
matter,  so  it  be  dry. 

Another  week  and  I  ran  two  yards  faster.  Four 
days  later  another  yard  came  off.  "You  surely 
are  coming,  lad.  Show  me  a  quarter  second  off 
that  again  and  I'll  give  you  a  pair  of  pumps — * 
(spiked  shoes  he  meant)  "off  the  best  shoemaker 
in  England." 

"You  can  order  them  for  next  week,"  I  answered 
to  that.  And  on  the  day  appointed  I  won  my 
pumps;  and  that  same  day  I  was  entered  for  the 
next  handicap.  I  was  not  so  far  short  of  my  true 
form  then,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  all 
my  trials  I  had  run  alone.  And,  as  I  have  said, 
running  alone  never  suited  me.  I  needed  some- 
body alongside  trying  to  pass  me,  or  somebody 
ahead  striving  to  beat  me  out.  To  me  any  race 
282 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

at  all  meant  two  yards  above  my  practice  time. 
A  big  race,  with  a  great  crowd,  and,  it  might  be,  a 
band  of  music,  with  the  cheering  and  shouting, 
the  betting  calls  and  so  on — a  championship,  or 
match  for  big  money — meant  from  three  to  four 
yards  to  me.  I  never  could  run  cold.  I  suppose  it 
was  that  my  imagination  as  well  as  muscle  had  to  be 
tuned  up  before  I  could  get  all  that  was  in  me  out. 

But  I  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  my  gaffer,  and 
a  week  later  when  I  won  my  handicap,  showing 
form  equal  to  ten  seconds  flat,  the  old  man  was 
taken  by  surprise. 

"Ay,  lad,  but  if  I'd  a  notion  ye  were  that  kind 
I'd  made  a  pot  of  money  on  ye — twenty-five  to  one 
against.  I'd  only  five  pounds  down  on  ye.  Why, 
you're  a  real  racer.  And  you're  in  rare  form/' 
And  he  really  thought  so;  but  I  was  not  yet  in 
form.  I  had  told  Ensey  that  I  had  done  ten 
seconds  in  America.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  day 
I  won  from  the  Australian  I  had  done  nine  and 
four-fifths  seconds,  though  the  time  was  returned 
as  ten  seconds;  and  at  that,  after  going  fifty  yards, 
certain  I  could  not  lose,  I  had  let  down.  And 
further,  though  this  was  known  to  but  a  few 
good  friends,  I  had  done  inside  nine  and  three- 
fifths  seconds  in  a  race  before  that.  On  that 
occasion,  also,  the  watches  had  caught  me  in  ten 
seconds,  which  was  correct,  but  the  course  was 

283 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

five  yards  over  the  hundred — a  mistake  that  did 
no  harm.  I  was  after  a  living,  not  records.  But 
what  use  telling  the  gaffer  what  I  could  do  when 
there  would  soon  be  a  chance  to  show  what  I 
could  do  ? 

Of  the  thirty  pounds  I  received  for  winning  that 
first  race  I  sent  Fifield  twenty  for  my  wife  and 
little  one,  but  saying  also  that  he  must  not  tell  her 
where  I  was;  otherwise  she  would  be  over  on  the 
next  steamer,  which  was  not  what  I  wanted. 
Too  many  people  here  that  I  did  not  want  her  to 
mix  with,  and  also  I  did  not  want  to  face  her  until 
I  had  made  good  that  two  thousand  dollars.  The 
balance,  ten  pounds,  I  handed  back  to  my  gaffer, 
saying,  "Just  before  we  go  to  the  post  in  the  next 
race  lay  that  on  me,"  which,  when  the  time  came, 
the  gaffer  did,  at  ten  to  one. 

But  now  they  had  discovered  who  I  was,  and 
classed  me  accordingly,  on  my  reputed  speed, 
nine  and  four-fifths  seconds  for  the  hundred.  I 
would  hereafter  be  back-mark  man,  on  scratch 
with  the  English  champion,  whom  I  had  not  yet 
met.  I  won  that  race,  one  hundred  and  thirty 
yards,  in  twelve  and  two-fifths  seconds,  and  that 
for  the  jealous  watches  of  men  whose  living  de- 
pended on  their  getting  it  to  half  a  yard. 

The  old  gaffer,  for  whom  I  was  gladder  than 
for  myself,  hugged  me  in  his  joy.  "Lad,  lad, 
284 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

but  ye  do  storm  at  the  finish.  I  never  see  aught 
like  the  way  ye  came  through  that  last  thirty  yards. 
Where'd  ye  learn  it  ? " 

I  did  not  tell  him  that  I  could  have  come  yet 
faster  if  it  were  needed,  but — "You'll  enter  me 
for  the  big  Christmas  'cap  now,"  I  did  say. 

"That  I  will,  and  if  your  mark  isn't  too  re- 
strictive, I'll  lay  more  than  a  few  pounds  on  ye." 

"Oh,  no  fear  but  I'll  be  well  back  on  an  im- 
possible mark  this  next  time.  They'll  not  have 
the  American  running  away  with  any  more  'caps 
for  awhile  again." 

How  he  chuckled  at  that!  "You  have  it  right! 
You've  done  what  no  stranger  ever  did  before — 
win  two  'caps.  And  I'm  proud  enough  to  have 
had  the  'andling  of  you.  Ay,  they'll  make  it  im- 
possible for  ye  next  time,  but  ye'll  try  for  a  place 
if  naught  else  ?  Ay,  that's  it.  And  there's  no 
doubt  ye'll  meet  our  English  champion — they 
say  he's  saving  himself  for  it.  How  do  you  like 
the  notion  of  meeting  him  ?" 

"It  suits  me.  But  I'll  want  a  special  prepa- 
ration for  it,  the  same  as  he'll  get." 

"You'll  have  it,  lad,  as  good  a  preparation  as 
any  sprinter  in  England  ever  'ad — as  'Arry 
'Utchins  'imself  ever  'ad.  And  we'll  put  you  in 
a  stable  at  Sheffield  to  train  for  it." 


285 


The  Christmas  Handicap 


II 

It  is  in  England,  where  stables  of  professional 
runners  are  kept  as  if  they  were  stables  of  horses, 
that  they  know  how  to  get  a  sprinter  in  shape. 
During  my  eight  weeks'  preparation  I  slept,  with 
four  others,  in  a  large  back  ell-room  of  a  small 
hotel  in  Sheffield.  Every  night  at  ten  we  were 
locked  in  that  room  by  a  little  old,  scrappy  Scotch- 
man, who  kept  the  keys  in  his  pocket  and  slept 
on  the  other  side  of  the  door.  Every  morning  at 
half-past  six  we  were  called  for  a  stroll,  to  take 
the  kinks  out  of  legs  and  back  and  arms  and  to 
put  the  fresh  air  into  our  lungs.  Returning  from 
that  we  were  towelled  lightly,  then  allowed  to  sit 
down  to  breakfast.  At  ten  or  half-past  we  dropped 
down  to  the  grounds  for  practice.  No  hard  work- 
ing— just  a  fooling  around  and  a  few  starts,  but 
finishing  up  with  a  long,  easy  swinging  quarter  in 
fifty-five  or  fifty-six  seconds,  to  start  the  sweat. 
In  the  afternoon  we  did  our  fast  work.  After  each 
practice  we  were  given  a  good  rub-down;  and 
before  turning  in  at  night  we  were  rubbed  down 
again. 

We  were  worked  like  race-horses,  fed  like  horses, 
with  the  best  of  food  and  plenty  of  it — this  little 
hotel  was  famous  for  its  good  beef  and  chops  and 
286 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

vegetables — and  at  night  we  slept  like  horses. 
The  five  of  us,  we  would  tick  off  to  sleep  like  so 
many  clocks,  as  Angus  used  to  say.  But  with 
all  that  never  a  touch  of  drudgery.  It  was  the 
work  we  were  best  fitted  for,  the  work  that  of  all 
else  on  earth  we  would  rather  do.  Out  of  sheer 
love  of  the  game  we  would  have  gone  through  it 
for  nothing;  would  have  paid  for  the  chance, 
some  of  us,  if  not  allowed  to  do  it  otherwise.  And 
I  may  say  I  never  knew  a  world-beater  in  athletics 
who  did  not  go  at  his  work  with  that  same  feeling. 
If  it  were  not  so  he  would  never  have  become  a 
champion.  And  I  imagine  that  it  is  pretty  much 
that  way  in  any  profession. 

This  work  into  which  we  put  so  much  passionate 
energy  was  fast  bringing  us  to  as  near  physical 
perfection  as  man  may  get.  I  know  that  after 
six  weeks  of  it,  on  top  of  the  six  weeks  of  good 
living  that  had  preceded,  I  was  like  a  tiger. 
Cloistered  almost,  like  so  many  monks,  only  worse 
off  than  monks — no  spiritual  devotions  to  counter- 
balance, with  no  outlet  for  our  boiling  energy 
but  our  sprinting  practice,  our  trouble  was  to  hold 
ourselves  in.  Returning  from  the  grounds  after 
practice  we  used,  out  of  excess  of  animal  spirits,  to 
dare  each  other  to  all  kinds  of  foolish  stunts,  may- 
be betting  sixpence  or  a  shilling  a  corner  on  the 
outcome.     One  afternoon   I  took  in   a   running 

287 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

leap  a  street  that,  so  they  told  me,  the  champion 
long  jumper  of  middle  England  had  refused  to 
attempt  for  a  hundred  pounds.  The  leap  was  not 
extraordinary — nor  had  I  ever  trained  specially 
for  jumping — a  good  jump,  no  more — but  the  run 
to  it  was  most  uneven  and  the  curbing  on  which 
I  landed  broken  and  jagged.  The  thing  was  that 
if  I  did  not  take  off  and  land  just  right  I  would 
probably  break  or  strain  something — my  ankle  or 
instep.  There  were  that  and  other  things  which 
I '  had  no  notion  of  attempting  until  suddenly  I 
found  myself  doing  them.  There  was  the  spiked 
iron  fence  which  surrounded  our  hotel  to  the 
height  of  a  man's  shoulder.  They  dared  me,  one 
day,  to  stand  off  ten  yards  from  it,  hop  up  to  it, 
then  hop  over  it,  in  ordinary  street  clothes  and 
shoes  of  course,  from  the  brick  sidewalk.  If  I  did 
not  clear  it,  the  spikes  would  probably  be  driven  into 
my  left  side  or  thigh,  and  I  be  left  in  a  bad  way. 

I  tackled  it  and  I  remember  the  bar-maid — she 
was  looking  through  the  window  of  the  hotel,  a 
score  or  more  were  gathered  outside — the  bar- 
maid shrieking  as  I  rose  in  the  air.  But  she 
needn't  have — I  cleared  it  handily. 

But  the  gaffer  got  after  her  when  it  was  all  over. 

He  came  along  too  late  to  stop  it.    "  Don't  ever  you 

yell  like  that  again,  Miss  Arnold,  when  a  man's 

trying  a  thing  like  that.     If  you  can't  bear  it,  don't 

288 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

look."  He  spoke  roughly  enough,  as  he  could  at 
times. 

"But,  Mr.  Ensey,  who'd  ever  think  he  was 
really  going  to  try  it — such  an  awful  thing,  and 
fancy  if  he  slipped  up!" 

"A  wonder  he  didn't — at  your  murder  yell!" 

"But  a  man  don't  slip  up,  Guv'nor,  when 
he's  got  to  do  a  thing,"  I  put  in  here,  wanting  to 
help  her  out. 

"Some  don't,  maybe.  I  don't  fancy  you've 
eyes  or  ears  for  anything  but  what  you're  after  at 
the  moment,  but  all  men  aren't  that  way.  And, 
Ned,  you  want  to  begin  to  put  the  brake  on. 
You've  got  so  much  bloody  energy  tearin'  round 
in  you  now  that  you'll  go  crazy  or  explode  soon  if 
you  don't  watch  out.  A  little  will-power  is  what 
you  need  now,  lad." 

I  answered  nothing  to  that,  only  called  for  the 
half-pint  of  bitter  beer  which  I  allowed  myself 
before  dinner  and  supper  when  in  training. 

But  my  gaffer  hadn't  done  yet.  He  turned  to 
my  stable-mates:  "Let  me  ketch  any  o'  you  darin' 
'im  again — just  let  me!  Don't  you  know  'is  tem- 
per by  this  time  ? — and  the  trial  'eats  less  than 
a  week  away!" 

Going  out  the  door,  I  looked  back  to  see  how 
they  were  taking  it,  and  in  so  doing  met  the  bar- 
maid's eye.     She  had  her  handkerchief  to  one 

289 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

side  of  her  face  as  if  brushing  her  flushed  cheek, 
but  on  the  side  away  from  the  old  man  was  an 
expression  that  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of. 

The  trial  heats  of  the  big  handicap,  to  which 
my  gaffer  referred,  were  run  on  the  second  day 
before  Christmas.  Being  the  important  running 
race  of  the  year,  a  great  crowd  was  present;  and 
by  this  time  there  was  so  much  curiosity  to  see 
me,  the  only  foreigner  who  had  ever  come  to  Eng- 
land and  won  two  handicaps,  that  the  management 
offered  me  fifty  pounds  to  insure  my  appearance, 
so  I  was  now,  in  the  eyes  of  the  public,  next  best 
man  to  Rowden,  their  champion,  although  the 
betting  men,  who  are  better  judges,  rated  me  as 
his  equal;  some  privately  said  I  was  a  shade 
faster.  I  knew  myself  I  was  faster — "a  good  bit 
faster,"  my  gaffer  said,  but  not  in  public. 

Rowden  and  I  had  the  same  mark — that  is, 
we  both  started  from  scratch;  and  we  both  won 
our  first  trial  heats.  There  would  be  great  run- 
ning, everybody  said,  when  we  came  together. 
But  we  never  came  together.  In  the  semi-finals, 
an  entry  that  nobody  had  figured  on,  a  man  named 
Heddon,  with  nine  yards  start,  stayed  so  far  in 
the  lead  that  forty  yards  from  home  Rowden 
dropped  his  arms  and  gave  it  up.  It  was  a  scan- 
dalous beating,  and  with  the  report  of  Heddon's 
easy  win,  away  flew  my  chances. 
290 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

Leaving  the  grounds  that  afternoon,  everybody 
was  saying,  "  Heddon,  Heddon  ?  Who  is  this 
Heddon?" 

But  trust  our  shrewd  old  gaffer  to  get  hold  of 
something  about  him.  He  came  to  me  at  supper 
in  the  hotel.  "We're  hooked,"  he  began.  "I 
knew  him  when  he  used  to  run  in  Caledonian 
outings  and  small  'caps  in  Scotland  two  or  three 
years  back,  and  then  he  dropped  out  of  sight. 
His  entry  would  come  in  from  time  to  time  to 
this  handicap  and  that,  but  he'd  never  run.  Now 
we  see  why  he's  been  running  under  cover,  all 
this  time — only  the  Lord  knows  where  or  under 
what  name.  A  proper  sleeper  he  is.  Laid  by 
till  all  was  right  for  the  killin'.  A  pot  of  money  for 
him  to  win  the  final,  as  of  course  he  will.  His 
backer  will  see  that  he  don't  go  wrong  for  that." 

"Who's  his  backer?" 

"H — m — m — there  now.  I've  my  suspicions, 
but  I'll  find  out  more  about  it.  I've  scouts  out. 
I'll  be  back,  by  and  by,  and  report." 

I  finished  my  supper  and  smoked  my  half- 
pipeful,  and  then  Angus  went  out  for  a  stroll,  to 
see  if  he  couldn't  discover  something  about  Hed- 
don. He  invited  me  to  go  along,  but  I  said  I 
didn't  care  to  go.  "But  leave  me  the  keys,"  I 
called  out  after  him. 

"Oh,  ay — "  he  tossed  them  back — "the  old 
291 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

guv'nor  could  always  trust  you — you're  not  like 
the  others." 

I  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  started  for  the  room, 
which  this  night  I  was  to  have  to  myself,  because 
my  stable-mates,  who  had  not  so  much  as  won  a 
single  heat  among  them  all,  were  through  with 
training.  They  were  now  out  and  about  the  city 
enjoying  themselves.  And  how  they  could  and 
would  enjoy  themselves!  After  a  man  has  been 
exercising  like  a  race-horse  and  living  like  an 
anchorite  for  months — he  is  the  man  who  has  the 
capacity  for  pleasure,  not  the  man  who  is  pursu- 
ing it  all  the  time.  And  pleasure  ?  I  slammed 
my  bare  hand  against  the  hall  wall  as  I  thought 
of  it.  It  was  blessed  little  pleasure  I  was  having 
these  days.  I  must  have  exclaimed  aloud  at  the 
thought,  for  a  voice  said,  "Don't  take  it  so  to 
heart." 

It  was  the  blonde  bar-maid;  and  if  I  haven't  said 
much  of  her  before  this,  don't  imagine  that  she 
wasn't  a  factor  in  the  life  of  the  place,  or  that  the 
light  of  her  beauty  was  hid  under  any  bushel. 
And  she  could  measure  a  man  up — the  physical 
and  emotional  make-up  of  a  man  at  any  rate — 
as  quickly  as  any  old  gaffer  in  the  world. 

She  was  the  one  feature  of  the  hotel  which  my 
gaffer  did  not  like.  He  wanted  no  women  around 
when  men  were  training.  And  this  was  a  "spe- 
292 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

cially  damn  dangerous  creature,"  he  used  to  say, 
"to  be  standin'  about."  All  I  had  to  do  with  her 
was  when  I  would  go  in  after  practice  every  morn- 
ing and  afternoon  and  get  my  half-pint  of  bitter 
beer.  There,  of  course,  she  was  always,  and  nat- 
urally I  said  "Good-morning"  or  "Good-after- 
noon" to  her. 

No  every-day  bar-maid;  with  her  figure  and 
locks,  she  would  have  made  a  hit  on  any  stage. 
Our  fellows  used  to  put  an  extra  edge  on  their 
appetite  before  meals  arguing  why  she  did  not  go 
on  the  stage.  "Why  don't  she?"  the  old  gaffer 
would  answer.  "Why?  You  know  damn  well 
why.     It's  men,  not  Johnnies,  she  wants." 

Whatever  the  reason,  be  sure  it  was  not  because 
she  could  not  if  she  wanted  to.  I  was  rather  sur- 
prised to  see  her  now.  She  should  have  been  be- 
hind the  bar.  But  there  she  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  She  had  never  been  free  in  her  speech  with 
me  as  with  the  others;  nor  was  she  over-free  now. 
Indeed,  there  was  even  a  backwardness  in  her 
manner. 

"You're  looking  blue,"  she  said.  She  did  not 
call  me  by  name.  She  used  to  call  all  the  others 
by  their  Christian  names — Joey,  or  Charlie,  or 
Georgie — but  she  never  addressed  me  by  any 
name  at  all,  and  unless  she  caught  my  eye  or  there 
was  no  other  person  present,  she  never  spoke  to 
293 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

me  at  all.  "You're  looking  blue,"  she  said 
now. 

"I'm  feeling  blue,"  I  said. 

"No  wonder.  But  cheer  up — no  disgrace  even 
if  you  can't  win  to-morrow." 

"It's  not  the  race!" 

"No?" 

"No."  And  looking  at  her,  I  thought  of  an- 
other woman.  Her  face  flushed.  One  hand  crept 
up  to  her  neck-piece.  God  forgive  me  for  any- 
thing in  my  eyes  that  made  her  blush,  but  'twas 
not  her  just  then — 'twas  a  sweeter  girl  I  had  in 
mind. 

I  went  up  the  stairs.  On  the  landing  I  looked 
back.  She  was  still  standing  there,  a  handsome 
woman.  She  smiled,  and  going  through  the  door 
which  led  to  the  back  of  the  bar,  she  smiled  again. 
And  there  was  more  than  pure  kindness  in  the 
smile. 

I  continued  to  my  room.  I  was  blue.  When 
you  haven't  seen  or  heard  from  your  wife  for  four 
months,  when  you  have  had  no  answer  to  half  a 
dozen  letters,  when  you  have  been  sending  money- 
orders  home  and  no  word  of  acknowledgment  of 
them  either,  when  you  know  yourself  to  be  a  man 
who  never  understood  women,  and  there  was  I 
only  a  professional  sprinter,  when  she  might  have 
married  other  men,  with  any  of  whom  she'd  be 
294 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

running  no  risk  of  ever  wanting  for  the  good  things 
of  life — I  tell  you  I  was  blue.  And  there  was 
the  little  girl,  too. 

Well,  I  had  only  myself  to  blame.  I  had  gone 
off,  after  throwing  away  the  money  won  in  the 
big  race,  without  a  word,  though  of  course  Fifield 
would  explain  something  of  that;  would  possibly 
make  her  understand  that  it  was  my  old  besetting 
sin,  the  love  of  a  wager,  and  not  the  cold  intention, 
which  started  me:  no  close  friend  of  mine,  Fifield, 
but  surely  friend  enough  to  do  that.  He  had  won 
many  a  dollar  on  me — he  owed  me  that  little 
kindness. 

There  I  sat  and  thought.  Nobody  came  near 
me.  I  thought  of  Angus,  probably  having  a  mug 
of  ale  somewhere;  of  the  old  gaffer,  ferreting  out 
news  of  Heddon.  But  always  my  mind  would  go 
back  to  my  wife.  Why  hadn't  she  sent  word  ? 
Fifield,  too,  was  to  write  after  he  had  delivered  my 
message  to  her;  but  from  him  never  a  word,  either. 

I  was  still  sitting  there  when  ten  o'clock  struck. 
I  opened  the  window,  which  looked  out  on  the 
side  street.  A  fine  night;  many  people  on  the 
street,  and  from  the  "pub"  below,  which  opened 
also  onto  the  side  street,  the  noise  of  cheerful 
voices.  Two  or  three  of  them  plainly  were  cele- 
brating— had  doubtless  won  a  few  pounds  on  the 
race,  won  it  off  men  like  myself,  and  they  could 
295 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

afford  to  take  a  drink.  Could  and  would.  But 
I  mustn't.  Not  me — I  was  in  training.  To-mor- 
row night,  now,  I  would  be  free  and  could  drink 
— if  I  cared  to — but  not  to-night.  A  fine  freedom, 
indeed!  A  fine  life  altogether!  Putting  enough 
physical  and  mental  energy  into  my  work  to  bring 
success  to  half  a  dozen  tradesmen,  and  what  was 
I  getting  out  of  it  ?  To-morrow  I  was  slated 
for  defeat — a  bad  defeat.  Four  yards  he  might 
head  me.  A  fine  return  for  weeks  of  self-denial 
and  effort!  Fine,  fine!  Well,  thank  the  Lord,  to- 
morrow night  would  end  my  running. 

To-morrow  night  ?  Surely  I  was  a  proper  fool 
— to-morrow  night.  Even  if  I  got  second  place, 
what  was  fifty  pounds — my  gaffer's  share  ?  It 
surely  couldn't  break  him.  To  sweep  up  a  field 
of  bets  was  his  game.  And  the  next  day  after  was 
Christmas.  A  fine  Christmas!  A  merry  Christ- 
mas! Hadn't  seen  wife  or  child  in  four  months, 
and  nigh  four  thousand  miles  from  home. 

About  then,  or,  it  may  have  been  an  hour  later 
— Lord  knows  how  your  mind  works  at  such 
times — I  heard  from  the  yard,  which  was  in  the 
rear  of  the  house,  the  voice  of  the  room-boy. 
Whereat  I  ran — my  mind  always  did  get  a  jump- 
ing start — I  ran  to  the  rear  window  and  whistled. 
He  answered. 

"Come  up  the  back  steps,"  I  called. 
296 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

He  came  by  way  of  the  back  door.  I  drew  out 
some  change.  "Bring  me  up  some  ale — three 
bottles.  Say  nothing  to  nobody,  and  bring  them 
up  the  back  way." 

He  would  have  brought  three  bottles  of  poison 
just  as  quickly.    In  no  time  he  was  back. 

"Now  bring  me  more — a  dozen  this  time/' 
He  went.  He  was  proud  to  go  for  me.  Wasn't 
I  the  fastest  sprinter  in  the  world  ?  And  wasn't 
my  name,  in  letters  two  feet  high,  adorning  every 
dead  wall  in  town  ?  And  my  full-length  picture 
in  every  sporting  paper  of  that  week  ? 

He  was  hardly  out  of  the  door  when  I  opened  a 
bottle  and  gulped  it  down;  and  another,  and  was 
opening  the  third  when  he  returned  with  the 
twelve  bottles,  which  he  set  at  my  feet  on  the  floor, 
and  then  handed  me  a  sealed  envelope. 

"What's  this?" 

"A  note." 

"So  I  suppose.     But  who  from?" 

"Oh — h,"  he  leered  at  me  knowingly,  cunning- 
ly, "you  know." 

"I  know?"  I  looked  at  him.  He  was  a  pre- 
cocious one,  acquainted  with  many  things  before 
his  time.  "I  know — hah  ?"  I  drew  the  cork  out 
of  the  third  bottle — and  slowly  let  it  pour  down  my 
throat.  "  I  know — hah  ?  And  what  is  it  I  know  ? 
And  how  do  you  know  I  know  ? " 
297 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

"She  said  you'd  know." 

"She?  And  whoever  she  is,  how  did  she  know 
you  were  coming  up  here?" 

"She  guessed  where  I  was  going — wormed  it 
out  of  me — I  didn't  mean  to  tell,  but  you  can't 
keep  a  thing  from  her.     And " 

The  door  was  heard  opening  below — the  front 
door.  And  closing.  "Sh — sh — it's  your  gaffer 
— he's  no  love  for  me — but  she  said  she'd  be  off 
at  twelve,"  and  was  gone  down  the  back  stairs. 
Waiting  a  moment  to  make  sure  it  was  my  gaffer's 
step  on  the  stairs,  I  pushed  the  bottles,  empty  and 
full,  under  the  bed,  and  drew  down  the  blanket  so 
that  all  were  hid.     The  note  I  stuck  in  my  pocket. 

It  was  the  gaffer.  He  took  a  seat,  pulled  out  his 
pipe  and  then  put  it  back.  "Excuse  me,  Ned, 
I  forgot — for  the  moment  I  was  fancyin'  the  run- 
ning was  over." 

"And  isn't  it  as  good  as  over  ?" 

"Well,  m — m — yes — though  you're  a  man  that's 
likely  to  do  anything  in  a  pinch.  I've  great  faith 
in  you,  Ned." 

I  knew  something  of  my  old  gaffer's  weakness 
by  this  time.  Any  friend  of  his  was  a  fine  fellow, 
so  I  passed  that  over. 

He  was  now  regarding  me  affectionately.  "  But 
what's  wrong  with  you  ?  You're  not  yourself  at 
all.  Come,  come,  Ned — we  mustn't  let  it  take 
298 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

such  a  hold  of  you.  Hold  out  a  while  longer — 
maybe  I'll  have  good  news  for  you  in  the  mornin\" 

My  mind  at  the  word  "news"  was  far  away 
again. 

"Good  news  of  what  ?" 

"Oh — h — I've  been  doing  some  investigatin*. 
And  a  man  whose  description  fits  your  gambling 
friend  Fifield,  that  you  told  me  about,  is  here  and 
doin'  business,  though  not  under  that  name." 
Long  before  this  I  had  told  the  old  gaffer  of  the 
race  with  the  Australian  and  the  after-loss  of  the 
two  thousand  dollars. 

"But  did  you  see  this  Heddon  run  to-day, 
Ned?" 

"No,  I  was  being  rubbed  when  he  won  that  heat 
from  Rowden." 

"Well,  take  a  light-haired  man  of  five  feet  ten, 
thick-set,  heavy  calves,  specially  long  in  the  back, 
a  quick  starter,  high  knee  and  strong  arm  action — 
who  would  that  remind  you  of?" 

It  did  not  come  to  me  till  then — yet  I  was 
hardly  surprised.  Perhaps  I  was  too  loggy  with 
ale  to  be  much  surprised.  Perhaps  so.  "That 
would  fit  the  Australian  who  ran  me  for  the  Amer- 
ican championship." 

"Well,  that's  'im — but  no  Australian.  That's 
Heddon — and  your  friend  Fifield's  got  him  under 
lock  and  key  at  the  Swan.  I  must  say  they  planned 
299 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

it  well — and  stand  to  get  a  pot  of  money — and  a 
good  bit  o'  mine  and  yours  they'll  get  at  the  same 
time.  'Tis  Fifield  will  get  most  of  it,  too.  He 
was  in  drink  to-night,  and  said  a  lot.  He's  no 
love  for  you." 

"And  why  not — did  he  say  ?" 

"H — m — m — hints,  hints.  But  suppose  'twas 
him  was  behind  Heddon  when  you  beat  him  in 
America  ?  And  suppose — suppose  then,  Ned — 
suppose  he's  in  love  with  your  wife  ?" 

"He  was — wanted  to  marry  her — but  he's  got 
over  that." 

"  How  d'  y'  know  he's  got  over  it  ?  Suppose 
he  figured  he  could  keep  you  over  here  with  not 
money  enough  to  go  back  home,  and  she  over 
there  with  not  money  enough  to  buy  herself  and 
the  little  girl  bread !     How  then  ? " 

"You  surely  do  imagine  things,  Guv' nor." 

"Maybe  so — maybe  so.  And  maybe  I'm  only 
imaginin'  he  led  you  into  that  gamblin'  joint  where 
you  lost  your  two  thousand!  But  you're  tired, 
lad.  You're  up  too  late  as  it  is — after  eleven 
o'clock — go  to  bed.  And  lock  that  back  door. 
However  came  it  open,  anyway  ?  I  told  Angus 
never  to  leave  it  open.  If  I  see  him  anywhere  I'll 
send  him  up  to  keep  you  company.  You'll  make 
what  you  can  of  it,  to-morrow,  won't  you,  Ned  ? 
— and  then  a  fine  lay-off.  And  mind  " — no  moan- 
300 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

ing  over  the  good  thing  that  was  being  snatched 
from  us,  but  a  fine,  warm  smile  from  the  old  fel- 
low— "mind,  I  may  have  great  news  for  you  to- 
morrow.    Good-night,  Ned." 

Great  news  ?  Heddon  disbarred  ?  No,  they 
could  not  do  that.  His  running  under  another 
name  abroad  could  be  no  cause  for  disqualifica- 
tion, even  if  we  cared  to  play  that  game,  which  we 
had  no  mind  to.  They  would  have  to  let  him  run 
now — and  all  bets  would  go  at  the  post — and  we 
would  take  our  medicine. 

My  head  ached.  What  was  the  old  man's 
notion  of  Fifield  trying  to  keep  me  from  my  wife  ? 
Queer  things  came  into  the  gaffer's  head — the 
most  suspicious  man  at  times. 

I  leaned  out  of  the  rear  window.  I  could  hear 
the  voice  of  the  bar-maid  whenever  she  went  into 
the  kitchen.  Also  I  could  see  her  shadow  against 
the  white  fence  in  the  yard.  Presently  I  could 
hear  the  old  gaffer's  voice  below.  A  few  minutes 
and  I  heard  him  say  "Good-night,"  and,  a  mo- 
ment later,  his  steady  old  step  going  up  the  side 
street. 

Good  old  gaffer!  Poor  old  Ned  King!  Ned 
King,  you  poor  slob!  I  drew  the  blanket  up 
from  the  floor,  reached  under  the  bed,  and  held 
a  bottle  up  to  the  light. 

I  had  a  thought  that  the  sight  of  the  ale  would 
301 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

make  me  forget  my  backer.  But  it  did  not — not 
quite.  "I  told  'em  all  I  didn't  care  if  'e  'ad  twenty- 
nine  instead  of  nine  yards — when  Ned  King  gets 
after  him  those  nine  yards  will  shrivel  up  like 
thin-cut  bacon  on  a  hot  grill — "  I  could  see  him 
in  the  bar  of  the  Swan  defying  all  who  might  care 
to  contradict. 

Good  old  gaffer.  And  he  trusted  me.  And  he 
had  given  me  a  chance;  bedded  and  boarded  me 
when  I  was  down  and  out.  And  once  again  his 
money  was  down  on  me. 

Ay,  his  money  was  down  on  me.  I  counted 
the  full  bottles  idly.  Twelve,  and  three  gone. 
What  a  forgetful  time  I  could  have  yet!  And 
plenty  more  downstairs.  I,  who  had  never  until 
to-night  taken  the  second  bottle  of  ale  at  one 
sitting,  to-night  was  going  to  see  how  much  a  man 
would  need  to  take  to  make  a  man  forget. 

I  sat  on  the  edge  of  my  cot.  I  took  pleasure  in 
counting  the  bottles  once  more.  What  a  time! 
To  be  sure  I  could.  But  would  I  ?  Would  I  now  ? 
"  I  says  to  'em  all  before  the  bar  of  the  Swan — not 
if  'e  'ad  twenty-nine  yards!  And  when  Ned  King 
gets  after  'im — "   Game  old  gaffer! 

Surely  I  could.     I  drew  the  cork  of  one.    The 

froth  welled  slowly  up.     I  watched  it  a  moment, 

then   stepped   to   the   wash-basin   and   poured   it 

down  the  drain.    One  after  the  other  I  drew  the 

302 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

corks  and  poured  the  ale  into  the  basin.  As  I 
emptied  them  I  stood  them  up  like  soldiers  on  the 
floor. 

I  heard  the  boy's  step  on  the  back  stairs.  In 
he  came  cautiously.  His  rat-like,  wicked  little 
eyes  peered  around  the  room.  He  looked  at  the 
empty  bottles  on  the  floor — counted  them — fif- 
teen— chuckled — "My,  but  you're  going  a  gait! 
And  all  alone,  too!"  And  then,  as  if  assured  of 
something  he  very  much  wished  to  know,  ran 
down  the  stairs  again.  I  could  hear  the  kitchen 
door  closing  behind  him. 

I  threw  the  empty  bottles  out  of  the  back  win- 
dow. I  heard  them  drop  one  after  the  other,  on 
the  grass  in  the  back  yard.  Then  feeling  drowsy, 
dull,  tired — wretched — I  undressed,  and  was  get- 
ting into  bed  when  Angus  came  in. 

"A  bad  outlook  for  to-morrow,  Ned."  He  had 
more  beer,  perhaps,  than  was  really  needful  for 
his  health,  and  so  a  bit  maudlin.  "The  guv'nor 
give  'em  the  devil,  Ned,  and  so  did  I — down  to 
the  Swan,  Ned.  But  no  use — twenty-five  to  one 
you  can't  win — and,  of  course,  you  can't — nor  no 
man  ever  lived  or  ever  will  live,  with  that  hound 
on  the  nine-yard  mark.  Well,  well,  I'll  be  turn- 
ing in  here  to-night,  Ned — spare  beds  enough." 
I  must  have  gone  off  to  sleep  then,  for  I  remem- 
bered no  more  of  Angus. 
303 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

But  by  and  by,  how  much  later  I  cannot  say,  I 
thought  I  heard  a  knocking  at  the  door;  at  first 
softly,  but  at  length  more  boldly.  I  sat  up,  and 
as  I  sat  up  it  stopped,  and  as  it  stopped  the  voice 
of  Angus  called  out:     "What  is  it,  Ned  ?" 

"What's  it,  you?"  I  retorted;  and  must  have 
immediately  fallen  off  to  sleep  again,  for  I  heard 
nothing  more. 


Ill 

Only  three  bottles,  and  I  knew  men  who  could 
have  taken  a  dozen  of  that  same  ale  and  not 
minded  it,  but  the  sap  of  life  had  long  ago  ceased 
to  run  freely  in  them,  or  else  their  natural  holding 
caapcity  was  greater.  I  awoke  like  a  man  from 
horrid  dreams,  and  had  no  appetite  for  breakfast, 
though  I  did  try,  under  the  anxious  eye  of  Angus, 
to  force  it  down. 

"It  can't  be,  Ned,  you're  stale  from  over-train- 
ing. It  can't  be,  for  yesterday  you  were  like  a 
lion." 

After  breakfast  I  slipped  down  to  the  track,  and 
had  been  cantering  up  and  down  for  perhaps  ten 
minutes,  when  Angus  came  running  in.  "What 
ails  you,  Ned — working  like  this  on  the  morning 
of  the  finals?" 

"I've  got  to  work  it  off." 
3°4 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

"Work  what  off?" 

I  made  no  answer  to  that,  and  he,  thinking  I 
had  a  touch  of  the  sulks,  said  no  more;  and  I, 
who  had  always  laid  out  my  own  work,  tore  up  and 
down  the  track  till  I  felt  I  had  enough. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  hotel  I  slipped  Angus, 
and,  stepping  into  a  pub,  had  a  brandy  and  soda, 
the  second  I  had  ever  taken.  The  first  was  when 
my  wife  had  the  baby,  and  I,  in  the  next  room, 
had  to  wait  hours  for  the  word.  As  to  drinking 
that  liquor,  and  drinking  it  when  I  did  that  morn- 
ing in  Sheffield,  I  have  to  say  that  I  knew  what  I 
was  doing.  There  is  more  to  training  than  exer- 
cising or  being  massaged,  or  eating  or  sleeping. 
Ten  years  up  to  this  time  I  had  been  running, 
studying  my  game  and  studying  myself.  If  I  was 
the  fastest  short-distance  runner  in  the  world,  it 
was  more  than  length  of  stride  or  drive  of  back 
and  arm  that  made  me  so.  It  was  more  also  than 
my  brains  and  body.  It  was  knowing  the  things 
which  lie  so  deep  in  you  that  you  are  not  able  to 
make  anybody  else  understand  them  as  you  do 
yourself.  And  that  morning  I  drank  my  brandy 
and  soda,  drinking  it,  too,  in  the  full  knowledge 
that  it  is  a  bad  thing,  even  one  drink,  when  you 
don't  need  it. 

My  drinking  it  was  all  over  town  in  an  hour, 
and,  joined  to  the  rumor  that  I  had  been  on  a 
305 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

drunk  the  night  before,  caused  many  a  good  man 
to  grieve  that  day  in  Sheffield;  and  also  it  killed  any 
further  betting  on  me. 

At  half-past  eleven  o'clock  I  was  back  to  the 
hotel.  At  twelve  I  had  lunch — chops,  soft-boiled 
eggs,  toast,  apple-butter,  and  tea.  After  lunch — 
one  o'clock — I  went  to  bed.  The  race  was  at 
four  o'clock.  "Call  me  at  three,"  I  told  Angus — 
and  was  alseep,  he  said  afterward,  in  two  minutes. 

At  three  o'clock  I  was  sleeping  so  soundly  that 
Angus  had  to  shake  me  to  wake  me.  At  half-past 
three  we  went  to  the  grounds,  where  were  now 
forty  thousand  people,  viewing  patiently  the  pre- 
liminary events  to  keep  them  in  humor;  and  they 
were  still  swarming  in. 

Not  till  I  was  on  the  mark  that  day  did  I  get 
a  look  at  Heddon.  He  was  the  man  who  only 
four  months  before  I  had  run  for  the  American 
hundred-yard  championship.  And  now  he  had 
nine  yards  in  a  hundred  and  fifty.  "Never,  un- 
less he  drops  dead,  will  you  get  him,"  was  what 
one  book-maker  said  to  me,  and  that  was  pretty 
near  what  I  thought  myself. 

"So  it's  you,  you  Australian  champion,"  I  said 
to  Heddon  when  I  met  him.  "A  fine  champion! 
And  a  fine  game  you're  playing  with  Fifield." 

"Well,  it's  so  fine  a  game  that  when  we  cash  in 
after  the  race  we'll  have  back  that  four  hundred 
306 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

pounds  we  lost  in  America  and  a  good  many  other 
four  hundreds  with  it." 

"You  have  to  win  first." 

He  laughed  out  loud.  "With  nine  yards  ?  Ho, 
ho,  with  nine  yards  the  devil  from  hell  won't  get 
me." 

"Maybe  the  devil  couldn't,"  I  says — "but  'tisn't 
the  devil  will  be  after  you.  Poor  devil,  he  has  to 
hop  along  with  cloven  feet  and  a  tail  flying  back 
in  the  wind  to  handicap  him  even  more.  But 
with  them — !"  I  held  up  one  spiked  shoe,  and 
as  he  looked  I  flexed  toes  and  instep,  and — I 
couldn't  help  it,  I  was  that  alive  with  energy 
boiling  to  turn  itself  loose — I  stood  and  leaped 
over  a  bench  beside  the  track.  It  was  a  clean  leap 
of  eleven  feet,  toe  to  heel,  and  two  fellows  who 
had  just  finished  a  mile  run  were  lying  on  it,  rest- 
ing. They  started  up  in  alarm.  "Hi  say,  there, 
King — fancy  if  you  didn't  make  it!" 

"Make  it!"  broke  in  Angus.  "Lie  down.  He 
could  'a'  made  it  an  you'd  been  tiered  three  high 
— and  that's  what  he'll  do  to  you,  Heddon.  Ned 
won't  run  this  day — he'll  leap  the  whole  hundred 
and  fifty  yards.  At  about  a  hundred  yards  you 
want  to  listen — but  you  won't  have  to  listen — 
you'll  hear  it — the  chunk,  chunk  of  his  spikes, 
the  same  hitting  the  cinders  so  fast  that  you  can't 
count  'em,  and  at  a  hundred  and  twenty  you'll  be 

307 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

feelin'  a  hot  breath  getting  hotter  every  second 
— and  then  you  want  to  watch  out,  Heddon,  for 
that  '11  be  the  back-mark  man  comin'  in  to  his 
own — won't  it,  Neddo  ? " 

That  sounded  like  blackguarding,  didn't  it? 
But  this  Heddon  was  a  notorious  man  himself  at 
that  game,  and  we  were  only  taking  his  measure; 
and  not  all  foolishness,  this  by-play.  As  I  watched 
him  now  I  began  to  see  that  jump  over  the  bench 
wasn't  altogether  a  waste  of  energy.  I  knew 
what  was  running  through  his  brain.  He  saw 
again  that  hundred  and  eighty  odd  pounds  flying 
through  the  air.  By  and  by  that  same  hundred 
and  eighty  odd  pounds  would  come  flying  through 
the  air  after  him.  When  a  lad  and  just  breaking 
into  the  game,  and  faster  men  came  tearing  down 
behind  me,  I  knew  how  I  used  to  feel.  I  used  to 
wish — with  those  champions  behind  me — I  used 
to  wish  the  tape  was  something  nearer. 

I  was  mad  and  getting  madder.  I  could  have 
ripped  the  track  in  two.  I  dug  my  holes,  and, 
breaking  away  from  the  mark,  breezed  down  past 
the  stand.  A  voice  there  called  out — an  American 
voice,  "There's  your  Derby  winner  for  you — 
him  for  me." 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  like  running,  but  I  was 
not  yet  worked  up  to  that  nervous  tension  which 
precedes  a  great  performance — or  a  great  break- 
308 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

down.  Inside  of  me  was — I  began  to  feel  it — the 
power  with  which,  by  and  by,  I  would  do  what  I 
willed.     But  as  yet  it  half-slumbered. 

Coming  back  by  the  judge's  stand  I  met  my 
old  gaffer,  whom  I  had  not  seen  since  the  night 
before.  All  the  morning  I  had  been  wondering 
where  he  had  been.  I  thought  he  would  say  some- 
thing about  the  brandy  and  soda;  but  evidently 
he  had  not  yet  heard  of  it.    His  face  was  beaming. 

"You're  a  horse,  lad — a  horse,  nothing  less. 
But  look  here" — he  stepped  closer — "old  Parke- 
son  that  couldn't  be  bribed — he's  gone  home 
for  Christmas.  Said  in  forty  years  he'd  never 
failed  to  be  home  for  Christmas  eve — and  they've 
bought  up  the  substitute  starter." 

"Well,  he'll  need  to  be  a  clever  one  to  shoot  him 
off  the  mark  and  not  me,  too.  When  Heddon 
leaves  the  mark  be  sure  I'll  leave  it  with  him — if 
I  don't  leave  it  before,  so  long  as  they're  out  to  do 
that  kind  of  work.  But  that  fifty  pounds  the 
management's  giving  me  for  showing  up — I  want 
you  to  get  it  and  lay  it  on  me." 

"To  win  ?  or  for  the  place  ?" 

"To  win." 

"Hah?"  He  laid  a  hand  on  my  arm.  "Have 
ye  learned  anything  ?     Is  aught  wrong  with  'im  ?" 

"Nothing  wrong  with  him.  He'll  run  the  race 
of  his  life  to-day." 

309 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

"Then  ye  can't  win.  At  nine  yards  ye  can't 
win.     The  devil  from  hell  couldn't  do  it." 

"That's  what  Heddon  said,  but  I  gave  that 
devil's  tail  a  twist,  and  he's  not  so  sure  as  he  was. 
At  twenty-five  to  one,  I'm  telling  you,  lay  that 
fifty  pounds  on  me.     Will  you  tend  to  it  ?" 

"I  will.  And,  by  Heaven,  a  bit  of  my  own. 
The  fighting  look's  in  your  eye  to-day,  lad.  And 
if  you  win — if  you  win,  Ned " 

"If  I  win  ?     What  are  you  smiling  at  ?" 

"Ho,  ho — it  won't  put  me  in  the  poor-house  if 
we  do  lose.  But  keep  an  eye  to  the  starter."  He 
ran  off  toward  the  book-makers'  stand. 

"And  get  some  of  it  with  Fifield's  people,  if  you 
can,"  I  called  after  him. 

"All  they're  game  for,"  he  called  back. 

The  starter  called  out  to  know  if  I  were  ready. 
Always  in  the  big  handicaps  it  is  the  stratch-man 
who  is  deferred  to.  He  it  is  who  has  the  choice 
of  paths,  who  may  put  off  his  preparations  till  the 
last  second.  In  the  light  of  the  scratch-man's 
privileges  I  made  my  first  move.  One  path  was 
as  good  as  another,  but  I  wanted  Heddon  under 
my  eye.  He  had  the  fourth  path  from  the  pole, 
so  I  demanded  the  third  from  the  pole. 

The  starter  seemed  surprised.  "I  thought  you'd 
already  picked  your  path,"  and  he  pointed  to 
where  I  had  dug  starting  holes  on  the  inside  path. 
310 


"Ho,  Ho,  with  nine  yards  the  devil  from  hell  won't  get  me: 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

"Never  mind  what  you  think"  I  rapped  back. 
"It's  what  /  do  that  you  have  to  go  by.  I'm 
using  my  right  to  take  what  lane  I  please." 

I  took  a  long  time  digging  my  new  holes,  so 
long  that  all,  Heddon  and  the  starter  particularly, 
began  to  show  signs  of  nervousness. 

When  I  had  finished  digging  my  holes  I  stood 
up  in  them,  to  get  the  feel  of  them  in  the  usual 
way;  after  which  I  cast  off  my  bath-robe.  Angus, 
in  waiting,  picked  it  up  and  was  about  to  make 
off  down  the  track;  but  I  looked  at  him,  and  he 
dropped  it  on  the  ground  again.  The  others  now 
handed  their  blankets  to  their  attendants,  who 
rushed  off,  as  Angus  would  have  done,  down  the 
track  to  where  they  would  be  able  to  see  the  finish. 

We  were  now  all  ready — apparently.  The  starter 
said:  "On  your  marks" — the  others  got  on;  so 
did  I,  but  last  of  all  and  very  slowly.  "Get  set," 
he  called.  All  set — but  me — and  waited  for  the 
gun.  I  could,  being  behind,  see  them,  but  they 
could  not  see  me.  I  made  no  move  to  set,  but 
watched  them  for  perhaps  ten  seconds.  The 
starter,  I  knew,  would  never  dare  to  fire  that  gun 
till  I  was  ready  at  least — not  with  the  eyes  of 
sixty  thousand  people  glued  on  us.  He  might 
be  bought  up,  but  'twould  be  ruining  him  forever 
and  taking  his  life  in  his  hands  to  do  that.  Even 
at  twenty-five  to  one,  there  was  other  money  than 

3" 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

our  own  down  on  me.  Finally,  he  called  out: 
"Come  up,  everybody — what's  the  matter,  King  ?" 
at  which  I  left  my  mark  and  jogged  down  the 
track. 

I  went  fifty  or  sixty  yards  before  turning  back, 
and  I  made  no  haste  coming  back.  The  others, 
Heddon  particularly,  eyed  me  curiously.  I  paid 
no  attention  to  them,  except  that,  walking  past 
Heddon,  I  said:  "And  you're  dead  sure  you'll 
win  it,  eh  ? " 

"What  is  it,  King?"  asked  the  starter. 

"Oh — h — I  don't  know — nervous,  maybe." 

"Well,  try  it  again."  We  set  again.  Again 
they  bent  quiveringly  for  the  crack  of  the  pistol, 
and  again,  at  the  instant  when  they  were  on  the 
wrack  to  hear  it,  I  stood  up  and,  when  the  starter 
called  "All  up,"  swung  down  the  track.  This  time 
I  went  a  full  hundred  yards  at  almost  top  speed. 
Oh,  but  I  was  going  rarely,  and  I  made  sure 
Heddon  felt  it.  It  was  my  day,  and  yet  more  than 
sheer  sprinting  power  was  to  win  this  race  for  me. 

Haskins,  the  pistol-firer,  was  plainly  puzzled, 
and,  I  believe,  worried  by  my  actions,  which  was 
what  I  meant  him  to  be.  I  had  no  mind  to  let 
him  have  that  pistol-firing  all  to  his  own  hand. 
He  looked  inquiringly  at  me  as  I  returned  to  the 
mark,  but  I  said  nothing,  only  once  more  stood 
in  my  holes  as  if  ready  for  the  gun. 
312 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

I  watched  again  the  backs  and  legs  of  my 
competitors  as  they  crouched.  They  were  all 
showing  the  strain.  And  yet  again  I  stood  up. 
This  time  I  called  out  to  Angus:  "Just  cinch  up 
my  shoe-lacings,  will  you,  Angus  ? "  and  while 
he  was  bent  over  to  it  I,  well  wrapped  in  the  bath- 
robe, whispered,  "And  take  your  time  at  it,  An- 
gus." 

There  I  was  warm  as  toast  from  my  jogging  and 
the  bath-robe,  and  there  they- were  beginning  to 
feel  the  cold.  Heddon  darted  down  the  track  as  I 
had  been  doing,  but  the  others  didn't  dare  to  get 
too  far  off  for  fear  the  starter  would  make  them 
hurry  back  and  fire  the  gun  before  they  had  re- 
covered their  wind. 

My  shoes  seemed  laced  to  suit  me,  and,  casting 
off  the  bath-robe,  I  was  again  on  the  mark.  This 
time  I  meant  to  go. 

I  bent  leisurely  at  the  preliminary  word,  yet 
more  leisurely  at  the  word  "Set" — taking  notice 
of  everybody,  but  with  a  special  eye  to  Heddon. 
All  by  now  were  plainly  showing  the  effect  of 
being  kept  waiting.  It  was  in  December,  Christ- 
mas eve,  mind  you,  and,  though  a  sunny  day, 
naturally  not  over-warm,  and  men  do  not  stay 
out  in  scant  clothes,  bare  legs  and  arms  and  low- 
cut  shirts  without  feeling  it,  and  you  want  to  be 
warm  as  a  coal  fire  for  your  best  sprinting.    And 

3*3 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

more  than  the  cool  air  they  had  been  feeling  the 
suspense  of  waiting.  And  Heddon  ?  I  knew  how 
his  mind  was  working.  He  was  wondering  if  I 
would  really  go  this  time.  "I'll  worry  you  more 
than  that,"  I  said  to  myself,  "with  your  nine 
yards  and  your  crooked  play.  I'll  worry  you — 
and  you,  too, — Mister  Starter." 

I  was  going  to  try  something  I  had  never  tried 
before  in  a  race.  They  called  me  a  steady  and  sure 
man  on  a  mark — and  so  I  was,  none  more  so,  but 
many  a  time  had  I  tried  this  in  practice.  "As  to 
the  wrong  of  it,"  I  argued  to  myself — "well,  it 
may  be,  but  they,  not  I,  began  the  game."  As  to 
any  wrong  done  to  the  other  three  in  the  race,  they 
had  no  chance  against  Heddon  or  me.  It  was  I 
or  Heddon  would  win  this  race. 

Well,  there  were  sixty  thousand  crazy,  howling 
people  waiting  for  us  to  go,  and  a  starter,  for  all 
he  had  fired  the  gun  at  a  hundred  handicaps, 
wishing  to  get  the  job  off  his  hands.  He  said 
"Set,"  and  there  we  were,  I  not  quite  steady,  nor 
intending  to  be  too  quickly.  But  at  last  I  bent 
over,  and  as  I  did  so  put  my  mind  in  place  of  the 
starter's.  "Ah — h,"  he  was  saying  to  himself — 
"At  last — and  now — "  and  here  he  would  be  tak- 
ing a  quick,  sure  glance  to  the  others  and  back  to 
me  again — "All  steady  now — "  again  a  look  all 
round — "A  tremendous  crowd — the  biggest  'cap 

3*4 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

in  years — a  good  job  almost  done — and  King 
still  steady  as  a  rock — and  now " 

"Steady,  Heddon!  Steady,  Heddon!"  And 
Heddon  already  like  a  marble  figure!  That  was 
the  tip  for  him.  "Now,  Neddie  boy,  watch  out," 
I  said  to  myself. 

Heddon's  back  hunched  over  so  slightly,  his 
knees  moved.  But  he  was  not  going  just  then. 
He  relaxed — the  others,  mind  you,  like  so  many 
quivering  rocks,  as  he  no  doubt  thought  I  was, 
under  the  strain.  I  watched  anew.  The  muscles 
of  his  back  and  legs  began  to  crawl — a  breath, 
and  the  heel  of  his  front  leg  lifted,  settled,  the 
hind  heel  began  to  lift,  1-i-f-t — a  quick  but  full  in- 
breath — and 

I  leaped  and  the  gun  cracked.  Nobody  could  say 
that  I  beat  the  gun  or  that  Heddon  beat  the  gun, 
but  the  starter  had  completed  his  contract.  He 
had  shot  Heddon  off  his  mark. 

But  Ned  King  was  right  there  with  him,  not 
up  into  the  air  where  a  man  a  mile  away  could 
see,  but  moving  out  of  the  holes,  nevertheless,  and 
ten  feet  they  say  I  cleared  in  that  first  wild  leap 
from  the  mark. 

"Blast  you!"  Angus  later  said  I  said,  breaking 
out  of  the  holes,  but  I  don't  remember  that.  I 
only  remember  that  I  saw  Heddon  before  me,  his 
back  straight  up,  his  head  bobbing,  his  arms  and 

3'5 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

legs  working  desperately.  My  back  was  bent 
over — no  man  running  carried  his  body  or  head 
farther  forward  than  I  did;  and  my  arms  were 
swinging  across  my  body,  and  hardly  time  to 
swing  across  before  I  had  them  back.  My  arms 
and  back  always  did  more  of  my  running  than  my 
legs.  Style  ?  Style  is  made  on  a  thousand  practice 
days,  not  in  the  heat  of  the  race.  But  I  had  style, 
none  better,  and  I  knew  it  was  there  to  stand  by 
me.  And  it  was  standing  by  me.  Heddon  ran 
high,  with  his  legs  moving  like  the  fore  legs  of  a 
trotting  horse.  Mine  were  more  like  the  trotter's 
hind  legs,  my  feet  barely  off  the  ground,  but  every 
stride  well  up  on  my  toes,  and  a  full  eight  feet  to 
every  stride  at  that  after  I  settled  down  to  my 
work.  That  was  my  job — to  set  my  feet  down 
and  pick  them  up  again  as  fast  as  ever  I  could.  I 
hardly  gave  them  time  to  hit  the  ground,  though 
when  they  did  hit  it,  they  hit  it  for  fair.  They  said 
afterward  that  a  man  who  had  to  follow  me  down 
the  track  would  have  had  his  head  knocked  off 
with  the  cups  of  earth  I  threw  behind.  The  track 
was  a  bit  soft,  I  may  say.  They  also  said  that 
you  could  hear  me  pounding  a  hundred  yards 
away.  Well,  I  meant  to  pound.  I  was  after 
Heddon. 

At  thirty  yards  nobody  could  notice  that  I  had 
gained.    And  maybe  not.    It  took  a  few  strides  to 
316 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

get  my  weight  and  length  under  way;  but  after 
that  nobody  was  heard  to  say  that  I  did  not  gain; 
and  gain  fast.  One  chap  with  ten  yards  I  caught 
at  the  hundred-yard  post,  though  I  only  recall 
him  dimly.  I  saw  one  man  clearly  in  the  race — 
Heddon — one  man  and  one  thing — Heddon  and 
the  red  worsted  across  the  track  at  the  finish. 

Heddon  could  run  a  fast  hundred  yards,  and  he 
ran  a  good  hundred  now.  I  gained  no  more  than 
three  yards  on  him,  maybe  four  to  the  hundred- 
yard  mark,  which  left  all  of  five  yards  to  make  up 
in  the  last  fifty.  If  a  man  can  gain  only  four  yards 
in  a  hundred,  how  can  he  ever  gain  nine  in  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  ?  It  doesn't  figure  out,  does  it  ? 
No.  But  I  could  run  every  foot  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  yards.  Heddon  could  not.  Every  yard  that 
I  covered  saw  me  going  faster  than  the  yard  be- 
fore. He  couldn't  do  that.  He  could  run  fast 
to  a  hundred,  and  there  hold  his  speed.  He  could 
not  increase  it.  Sprinting  handicap  rarely  ex- 
tends past  a  hundred  and  thirty-five  yards,  be- 
cause they  used  to  figure  it  out  that  a  hundred 
and  thirty-five  yards  is  as  far  as  the  scratch-man 
can  run  without  falling  away  in  speed.  But  I 
knew  that  I  could  run  a  hundred  and  fifty  and 
keep  going  faster  and  faster  to  the  tape,  on  the 
right  day,  that  is,  and,  believe  me,  this  was  the 
right  day. 

3J7 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

And  I  tore  on  with  the  same  low  stride  and 
my  body  held  forward  like  a  rigid  bar — every  lift 
of  my  thigh  beat  against  my  ribs  and  chest.  My 
breath  was  in-held,  my  heart  pounding.  And 
those  others  kept  coming  back  to  me,  though,  as 
I  say,  I  barely  saw  them.  But  Heddon  I  saw. 
He  loomed  up  immensely.  The  sixty  thousand 
shrieking  people — the  insiders  along  the  edge — I 
never  saw  or  heard  them.  I  never  could  see  any- 
body in  the  race,  anyway,  but  the  man  I  had  to 
beat.  I  don't  know  just  where  I  passed  the  others, 
but  I  gave  them  a  scandalous  beating.  At  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  yards — thirty  yards  to  go — only 
Heddon  was  before  me — and  he  looked  all  over  a 
winner.  No  mortal  could  beat  a  man  of  his  speed 
four  yards  in  thirty.  But,  God  in  Heaven,  I  was 
coming!  Heddon's  own  backers  were  admitting 
that  now.  Never  a  man  they  ever  saw  was  com- 
ing like  me,  they  said.  I,  myself,  did  not  believe 
then  that  I  could  win,  but  I  still  saw  Heddon's 
back.  He  was  still  going,  and  going  good,  but, 
God  in  Heaven,  I  was  tearing,  leaping — flying, 
man,  flying. 

Ten  yards  from  the  finish  and  the  Heddon 
people  cheered  crazily  for  their  victory.  It  was 
as  surely  all  over  as  that.  And  I  heard  that  cheer. 
Through  my  ears,  and  into  my  brain,  yes.  I 
could'nt  hear  sixty  thousand  people,  but  I  could 

318 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

feel  the  taunt  in  that  yell,  and  into  my  soul  it  came 
— and  then — then  I  lifted.  Hope  of  Heaven,  man, 
but  I  lifted.  Back,  arms,  shoulders,  neck,  the 
muscles  of  my  toes,  the  very  scalp  on  my  head 
— I  gave  'em  all  I  had.  Man,  but  'twas  a 
burst. 

They  said  I  covered  twenty-five  feet  in  my  last 
two  strides.  In  the  last  foot  of  that  last  leap  I  got 
him. 

That's  the  way  I  stormed  at  the  finish;  and  past 
the  line  I  kept  on  going,  arms  down,  head  up 
again,  but  my  momentum  carrying  me  clear  on  to 
the  turn  of  the  track  fifty  yards  beyond  the  finish, 
and  there  at  the  curve  I  almost  ran  over  the  fence 
and  into  the  people  in  the  front  row  of  seats,  who 
by  this  time  were  making  a  run  for  the  field;  and 
it  was  there  I  almost  ran  into  her  arms — and  her 
arms  were  wide  open.  She  crying — calling,  "Oh, 
Eddie — Eddie — "and  the  little  one  laughing  like 
mad,  "Oh,  papa — papa — "  she  was  saying,  and, 
believe  me,  I  didn't  regret  that  finish. 

Thousands  of  voices  were  calling — some  yell- 
ing— some  cheering — cursing,  some  of  them — but 
when  I  heard  her  voice,  and  the  name — she  alone 
ever  called  me  "Eddie" — I  clean  forgot  Fifield 
and  the  beautiful  beating  I  intended  giving  him 
the  minute  after  the  race  was  over.  It  was  al- 
most smothered,  that  voice,  and  I  was  excited, 

3*9 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

confused — even  now  it  blurs  to  me — but  I  whirled, 
and  stood  on  my  toes.  Being  tall,  I  soon  saw  her 
— little  as  she  was — herself  and  the  little  one.  I 
shoved  them  right  and  left  when  they  wouldn't 
make  way,  and  little  I  cared  what  they  might  think, 
I  lifted  her  off  her  feet  and  kissed  her,  and  snug- 
gled her — and  hoisted  the  little  girl  to  my  shoulder. 

About  this  time  the  gaffer  came  running  down 
with  his  watch  in  his  hand:  "D'  y'  know  what 
ye  did,  Ned — do  ye  know,  man  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care,"  I  said. 

"Man,  man,  but  the  most  impossible  time — 
an  impossible  time."    He  repeated  it  reverentially. 

I  went  to  the  dressing-room,  leaving  my  wife 
and  child  to  go  to  their  hotel  with  my  gaffer. 
After  dressing  I  sneaked  out  of  the  grounds  through 
a  loose  plank  in  the  fence — to  dodge  the  crowd — 
and  by  side  streets  stole  up  to  my  own  hotel  to 
get  my  bag.  I  was  coming  down  the  stairs  again 
when  I  met  the  bar-maid.  She  was  taking  off  her 
hat.  She  looked  at  me  and  I  looked  at  her.  I 
shook  hands  with  her  and  said:   "I'm  going/' 

"I  know.  I  saw  the  race — and  the  rest  of  it." 
There  was  that  in  her  expression  that  made  my 
heart  bleed,  but  what  could  I  do  ? 

Out  on  the  street  I  recollected  the  note  of  the 
night  before.  When  I  had  put  it  in  my  pocket  I 
meant  to  read  it  later.  Now  I  drew  it  out  and 
320 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

tore  it  into  little  pieces  which  I  scattered  along  the 
gutter.    I  had  no  mind  now  to  read  it. 

At  the  other  hotel,  the  best  in  the  city,  in  our 
suite  of  rooms,  we  had  dinner.  The  old  gaffer  had 
collected  all  the  money  due  us,  and  that  money 
was  now  poured  into  a  great  salad-bowl.  In  five 
and  ten  pound  notes  and  sovereigns  it  flowed 
over  the  edges  of  the  bowl,  for  us  to  look  at  while 
we  ate. 

I  poured  my  share,  more  money  than  I  expect- 
ed to  earn  in  years,  into  my  wife's  lap.  "There's 
your  little  house  in  the  country  and  something 
more.  Forgive  me  those  two  thousand  dollars  I 
gambled  away.  Forgive  me  for  leaving  you  as  I 
did." 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"And  forgive  me,  Ned,"  put  in  the  gaffer.  "I 
do  love  a  game  man,  and  you're  game.  When 
you  told  me  your  story,  after  you'd  won  that  sec- 
ond 'cap,  I  couldn't  help  writing  her.  And  I  knew 
more  of  Fifield  than  I  ever  let  on.  I've  a  friend  or 
two  in  America,  too.  But  I  was  afraid  for  the 
missus — afraid  she'd  get  here  too  soon  and  inter- 
fere with  your  trainin'.  And  afraid  she'd  come 
too  late  and  make  no  Christmas  for  you.  And 
now  that's  said,  there's  for  the  kiddie."  He 
crowded  ten  gold  sovereigns  in  each  of  the  child's 
321 


The  Christmas  Handicap 

hands.  Money  looked  so  common  to  us  that  when 
the  sovereigns  rolled  out  of  her  little  hands,  we 
none  of  us  bothered  to  help  her  collect  them,  but 
let  her  chase  them  around  the  floor,  under  the  table 
and  chairs. 

And  that  night  I  made  up  my  mind  never  to 
run  again.  That  day  I  had  beat  the  gun — the 
only  crooked  thing  I  ever  did. 

That  side  of  it  didn't  bother  my  gaffer. 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you — 'twas  you  or  them, 
with  them  naming  the  rules.  But  if  you  never 
run  again,  Ned,  here's  this  from  me."  He  stood 
up  to  say  it.  "I've  seen  'em  all,  Ned,  in  the  last 
fifty  years — seen  'em  all  come  and  go — but  you're 
the  greatest  of  'em  all.  And  I'm  not  in  wine  when 
I  say  it — Ned,  you're  the  greatest  sprinter  that 
ever  laced  a  shoe." 

'Twas  worth  putting  your  soul  to  the  wrack  to 
be  told  that  by  him,  the  best  judge  of  sprinters 
and  the  best-hearted  old  gaffer  in  England. 

That  night,  for  the  first  time  in  most  four 
months,  I  felt  a  woman's  arm  about  me.  And 
next  day  was  Christmas. 


322 


BOOKS  BY  JAMES  B.  CONNOLLY 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

THE  CRESTED  SEAS 

Illustrated,  Si.jo 

"  Tales  of  daring  and  reckless  deeds  which  make  the 
blood  run  quicker  and  bring  an  admiration  for  the 
hardy  Gloucester  men  who  take  their  lives  in  their 
hands  on  nearly  every  trip  they  make.  There  are 
Martin  Carr  and  Wesley  Marrs  and  Tommy  Clancy 
and  others  of  the  brave  crew  that  Connolly  loves  to 
write  about." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  There  are  speed  and  spirit  in  these  fearless  Glouces- 
ter men  and  they  stand  out  as  real  men,  revealing 
their  little  weaknesses  as  well  as  their  courage  and 
honesty." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  scenes  stir  the  imagination  and  no  reader  can 
fail  to  follow  the  hardy  seamen  with  eagerness  and 
expectancy.     There  is  humor  and  pathos." 

— Philadelphia  Record. 

"His  men  are  original  types.  They  have  hearts 
and  emotions.  If  the  things  that  happen  to  them  are 
exciting,  they  themselves  likewise  make  a  direct  ap- 
peal to  the  reader.  There  is  action  in  this  book,  there 
are  poignant  scenes  of  drama,  but  best  of  all  it  is  a 
book  of  well-drawn  portraits." — New  York  Tribune. 

"The  author  knows  how  to  make  them  real  and 
how  to  carry  them  through  moving  and  thrilling 
scenes  with  unconscious  heroism  and  often  with  equally 
unconscious  dry  drollery." — The  Outlook. 


BY    JAMES    B.    CONNOLLY 


OUT  OF  GLOUCESTER 

With  illustrations  by  M.  J.  Burns  and  Frank  Brangwyn 
J2moy  Si.jo 

"  Mr.  Connolly  has  a  touch  of  gay  humor  in  his  nar- 
ratives. He  knows  his  sea  and  his  sailors  well.  He 
understands  how  to  bring  dramatic  power  and  effect 
into  a  story." — Congregationalism 

"  This  new  volume  of  six  stories  of  ocean  adventure 
will  strengthen  Mr.  Connolly's  reputation  as  the  best 
delineator  of  the  actual  life  of  our  New  England 
deep-sea  fishermen  that  has  yet  appeared." 

— Boston  Journal. 

"  His  book  gives  graphic  descriptions  of  life  on 
board  of  a  fisherman,  and  has  the  genuine  salt-water 
flavor.  Mr.  Connolly  knows  just  what  he  is  writing 
about,  from  actual  experience,  as  his  book  very  plainly 
indicates,  and  as  such  it  is  a  valuable  addition  to  sea 
literature." — Gloucester  Times. 

"  That  all  the  romance  and  adventure  has  not  gone 
out  of  New  England  seafaring  is  easily  demonstrated 
by  Mr.  Connolly  in  this  volume  of  roaring  good  stories 
about  Gloucester  fishermen.  .  .  .  They  are  capitally 
told  and  they  put  you  right  into  the  life  they  tell 
about." — Providence  News. 

"  Mr.  Connolly  really  knows  the  sea  and  the  men 
that  sail  it,  and  his  love  for  it  is  apparent  on  every 
page." — Leslie's  Weekly. 

" A  collection  that  for  all-round  excellence  and  in- 
terest will  be  hard  to  duplicate." 

— Chicago  Record- Herald. 


BY    JAMES    B.    CONNOLLY 


THE  DEEP  SEA'S  TOLL 

With  illustrations  by  W.  J.  Aylward  and  H.  Reuterdahl 
i2tno,  Si.jo 

"  Sea   stories   of   the   kind   you   can't   help  liking. 
Stirring,  heart-moving  yarns  of  the  Gloucester  fisher- 
men who  brave  death  daily  in  pursuit  of  their  calling." 
— Chicago  Record- Herald. 

"No  teller  of  sea  tales  can  put  the  passion  of  the 
sea  into  his  stories  more  forcibly  than  Mr.  Connolly." 

— Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  very  breath  of  the  ocean  blows  in  these  thrill- 
ing stories  of  deep-sea  adventure." — Albany  Journal. 

THE  SEINERS 

With  frontispiece  by  M.  J.  Burns 
l2tno,  $1.50 

"  It  carries  the  sails  easily.  In  Tommy  Clancy  he 
has  created  a  veritable  Mulvaney  of  the  sea." 

— Collier's  Weekly. 

"  Full  of  vigor  and  song  and  the  breath  of  the 
sea." — St.  James  Gazette. 

"A  real  tale  of  the  sea  which  makes  one  feel  the 
whiff  of  the  wind  and  taste  the  salt  of  the  flying  spray — 
such  is  Mr.  J.  B.  Connolly's  new  book,  ■  The  Seiners.' 
.  .  .  Certainly  there  is  not  a  lover  of  the  sea,  man 
or  woman,  who  will  fail  to  be  delighted  with  this  breezy, 
stirring  tale." — London  Daily  Telegraph. 


BY    JAMES    B.    CONNOLLY 


AN  OLYMPIC  VICTOR 

[With  illustrations  by  A.  Castaigne 
J2mo,  $1.25 

"  His  story  of  the  straining,  gruelling  struggle,  the 
heart-breaking  efforts  of  the  runners  over  those  twenty- 
four  miles  of  country  roads,  is  soul-stirring." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

"  The  reality  of  the  atmosphere  created  makes  this 
story  compare  favorably  even  with  the  great  chariot 
race  of  '  Ben  Hur.'  " — The  Westminster. 

"  A  fascinating  story  of  the  Olympic  games.  The 
long  grind  over  the  historic  course  is  well  portrayed 
and  the  excitement  at  the  great  finish  is  intense." 

— The  Independent. 

JEB  HUTTON 

The  Story  of  a  Georgia  Boy 

Illustrated.     $1.20  net 

"  Will  rank  beside  <  Captains  Courageous.'  " 

—New  York  Globe. 

"  A  bright,  dashing  story,  sure  to  charm  boys  who 
love  the  strenuous  life." — The  Outlook. 

"  *  Jeb  Hutton '  is  a  boy's  story  from  beginning  to 
end;  clean,  wholesome,  spirited,  and  calculated  to  do 
good." — Boston  Journal. 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

PUBLISHERS NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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